Stone of Dreams
by Cordria
Summary: Harry is five when he starts to dream about a castle, strange magic, and a sour potions master. With Voldemort on the prowl for a way to reclaim his body, will Harry be able to hold off the darkness and save the soul of a former Death Eater from being consumed by his past?
1. Act 1 Chapter 1

_I have three New Years Resolutions (one is already broken, surprise surprise). But another is to update every Monday this year. Best of luck to me! _

_Please enjoy my latest creation. _

_-Cori_

* * *

**Harry Potter and the**

**Stone of Dreams**

* * *

**– Act 1: Foundations –**

* * *

.

**-1- Harry -1- **

_October 31, 1985_

_._

"Of all the stupid holidays…"

Harry curled up in the darkest corner of his cupboard, listening to his uncle rant and rave about today's holiday. While it had been Dudley who had brought the topic up, it had been Harry who had suffered more from the resulting explosion.

"No! No son of mine is going to do anything of the sort!"

He could hear Dudley crying from his room upstairs. Then there was the quiet voice of his aunt, trying to calm the larger man down with soft placations. Harry reached up a hand to touch his cheek, feeling the hot skin from his uncle's absent backhand.

"I don't care if it's a common holiday and there's no harm in it," Uncle Vernon fumed loudly, his bulk stalking past the tiny broom closet. The floor shivered and shook with his footsteps.

Harry shrank back from the shadow looming through the slats on the cupboard door, his five-year-old mind not quite understanding what was happening. His uncle – while large, scary, and threatening – had never hit him before. Harry pulled the thin blanket over his head.

"I'm not buying a costume, and certainly not _that_ sort of costume."

"Of course not, Vernon," Aunt Petunia said. Harry could hear her quick footsteps move past the cupboard door. "I'm sure Duddy was just confused."

"It's _the boy_'s fault, it is," the man complained. "We should have had him out of here before this. He's contaminating our son with that nonsense."

"You know why we can't do that," came the soft hiss of Aunt Petunia. "We'll just have to keep them separate."

"_The boy_ will have to learn," Vernon muttered. "I'll keep that nonsense out of my house…"

As their voices calmed and moved away into the house, Harry peeked out from under his blanket, wiping quiet tears of pain from his face. His eyes alert and on the slatted door, Harry wondered nervously if it was going to be wrenched open, a beefy hand ready to reach in and grab him.

Over and over in his head, Harry was wishing. It was the same wish he'd had for as long as he could remember. _I wish someone would come and take me away_. He used to long for his parents to show up, but lately he'd taken to hoping for anyone.

Nobody ever came. It was becoming part of his reality. Everyone else's wishes and dreams might come true, but not his.

As time passed and supper crept closer, Harry closed his eyes. He could hear his relatives moving around the house. Their feet made different sounds against the floor: his aunt's frantic, quick-paced clicks, his uncle's heavy plod, his cousin's slow, unsteady tread. At some point, Dudley must have been allowed out of his room – the TV was on and playing cartoons loud enough for Harry to listen in. Harry reached up a hand and prodded his cheek. Although the pain from the slap had faded quickly, his jaw still felt sore.

When it became obvious the rest of the house had started to eat without him, Harry sighed and pulled the blanket back over his head. His eyes felt heavy as he curled up in the corner. Listening to his thick-set uncle continue to rant about Halloween and all the stupid people out celebrating, Harry let out a low breath and felt his body shudder. And he wished.

He wished like he never had before. A new level of fear of his uncle and the soreness in his jaw lent the desire a fevered pitch. And overhead, a full Halloween moon glowed just over the horizon, gleaming down on the house and sparkling through the slats in the little broom cupboard.

_I just wish I were somewhere else_.

As he curled into a tight, little ball, there was a strange feeling growing just behind his heart. It welled up quickly, roaring through Harry's mind like a wave. Harry gasped and jerked his eyes open, instinctively trying to grab on to something even though his body wasn't moving.

Then, quite suddenly, he _was_ moving. Harry found himself flying backwards through the air. He got a split second view of his body still lying asleep on the small mattress. A snake – too large to logically fit inside of such a small broom cupboard – curled up next to him opened red eyes.

The snake hissed darkly. "_Avada…"_

And everything was gone. Harry hit the floor hard enough to knock the air from his lungs. Sprawled on the cold ground, he lay still a moment as his lungs struggled to bring oxygen to his battered body. Wiggling his fingers and toes and fighting with a growing pain in his head, Harry slowly crawled to his hands and knees.

The room he found himself in was nothing like number four, Privet Drive. It was darkly colored. Large gray stones seemed to make up the walls, floor, and ceiling. Thick wooden tables stained a million colors crowded the room and heavy-looking black pots rested in stacks near the sinks. No electric lights hung from the ceiling. Instead, large torches lined the walls, flickering with fire.

Mouth falling open in amazement, Harry settled back on his heels. One hand came up to rub at his head, attempting to sooth the pain in his forehead, even as he found new things to stare at.

As his hand came down from his head, Harry finally caught sight of his skin. It was a dim sort of blue. Harry stared at his fingers. Moved them around. Watched the floor through his hands.

_Through_ his hands.

Fear sparked inside of his five-year-old brain. This was definitely one of those things his uncle would turn red about – one of those things that wasn't _normal_. And while Harry wasn't the smartest child in Surrey, he was well aware of the fact that people shouldn't be able to see through their hands.

"Aunt Petunia?" He hesitated when he couldn't hear his voice, curling his fingers into fists. "Aunt Petunia!" This time it was meant to be a scream, but still nothing came out. His mouth moved, air was forced from his lungs, but the sound refused to make it past his throat.

Caught in a spiral of fear and frustration, he lashed out with a foot. His heel should have caught on the nearby table, making a nice sound, but it didn't. Instead, his foot went right through.

Harry found himself staring fearfully at the table, then at his slightly-blue and transparent foot, then back at the table. Nothing in his young mind could understand such a situation.

_Bang_.

Harry flinched at the sound, jerking around in time to see the door to the room slam shut behind a tall, young-looking man. He was stalking into the room, long hair dangling around his ears, black robes billowing around him like smoke. Anger boiled in his eyes. "It's a bleeding simple concept," the man snapped, pulling a stick from his robes and pointing it at the black pots.

Harry barely noticed when the pots jumped and started to clean themselves. He watched the man closely, his brain trying to make sense of this new thing.

"Had I known students were this dense and indolent…" the man trailed off with a dark groan, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. "Why did I let myself get talked into this job?" The man stooped to pick up something off the ground – a little glass jar with a strange orange liquid. He stared at it, shaking his head, then pointed his stick at it and the jar vanished.

By this point, Harry had determined that he must be in some sort of really strange dream. That would explain his hands and the man's magic stick. He felt the tense fear that had grown in him earlier start to fade. He trained his attention back down on his hands, flexing his fingers.

"And what in Merlin's name…"

Harry blinked at the man's voice and looked up. The man was standing over him, black hair around his face like a veil as the man peered down at him. Harry waited a beat, then tried for a small smile up at the dream-man.

"There's a ghost of a child in my dungeon," the man said softly, his eyes closing and his fingers tensing into fists. "Yet another thing Dumbledore forgot to mention when he offered the position."

Harry waited for the man to open his eyes, turning over the idea of being a ghost in his head. He wasn't entirely sure what being a ghost entailed, but it sounded like a fun way to pass the time.

"Do you have a name?" the man drawled sourly.

Opening his mouth, Harry attempted to give his name, but nothing name out. His mouth moved, he could feel the air coming out, but the noises were refusing to be heard. After a moment, Harry just shrugged.

The man shook his head and turned away with a muttered, "Excellent."

Harry climbed to his feet, unsteadily finding his balance. He winced as a wave of pain rushed through his forehead. Once he was steady on his feet, Harry followed the dream-man towards the other side of the room.

Unfortunately, the man noticed. "No," he said, pointing a long, bony finger in Harry's direction. "You're staying here. I'm owling an exorcist."

Harry blinked at the finger, then up at the man with a small smile. The man seemed to hesitate at the smile, then twisted on his heel and vanished through a second door. Harry stood still a few moments, watching the door and waiting for the tall man to return.

But there was only so long he could stand in one place. Harry reached out a hand and ran it through a nearby table. His heart beat loudly in his ears, not quite sure what he thought about the sensation it caused. There was something cold and fizzy about putting a hand through something.

He reached out a hand and did it again, then sunk his whole arm into the table. Retrieving his arm and examining his fingers closely for damage, Harry glanced at the table with a speculative gleam in his eye. It was all just a dream, after all. He took a step towards the table, then another, then another, until he found himself standing inside the table itself. With the table being about as high as he was tall, the table seemed to pass through his forehead.

The table was a cold feeling racing through his head. The almost electric sensation caused his nose to itch. Harry stood still, turned around in a circle, and found himself giggling silently. Stepping out of the table, Harry walked through the next without hesitating. Then started to run.

He made it through all the tables, stopped, and raced back at full-throttle. Unable to stop when he reached the end of the line of tables, Harry found himself tumbling headlong through the wall. He sprawled onto a new floor, his feet still sticking into the other room. Looking up, he found the tall man sitting at a desk.

Harry was just about to open his mouth to call out, forgetting he couldn't make any noise, when the strange stone room disappeared around him. It circled and spun and changed color until everything was black except for a sliver of light coming through the slats in a cupboard door.

Eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness, Harry realized he was back in his cupboard in Surrey – awake. He reached out a hand and pressed it against the wood of the stairs, wishing it could go through, like it had in his dream. A heavy, disappointed sigh leeched from his lungs as he sank back against the thin mattress and pulled the blanket back over his head.

It had been a good dream.

.

...

.

**-2- Severus -2-**

_November 12, 1985_

_._

Severus sunk into his chair, glaring down at all the grading he still had to do. He'd made it through the first year's abysmal essays on the properties of dittany – only barely and it had taken several strong cups of tea – and a stack of fourth year work was up next. The fourth year's been working on poison antidotes for several weeks and, while a part of him was hopeful the essays would actually show what they'd been learning, Severus had a strong cup of tea ready just in case.

Grabbing his quill and the first paper, Severus sighed and leaned backwards in the chair. Blaming his latest group of second year Gryffindors, he put his feet up on the corner of his desk and studied the scrawling lines. There was no way he'd written so messily as a-

His thoughts broke off as a sharp twinge raced up his arm. Severus froze.

Slowly setting down the paper and pen and putting his feet back on the ground, he pushed the sleeve of his robe up to eye the spot where the Dark Mark had been inked. With the demise of the Dark Lord four years previous, the Dark Mark had faded and no longer looked like the tattoo that sent most people running. It looked more like a random collection of scar tissue. Severus knew what to look for, though, and he could still make out the outline of the skull and the eyes of the snake.

He forced down a shudder and let the sleeve drop. "What caused that?" he muttered darkly, rubbing at his arm, not for the first time wondering if he could perfect a time travel potion.

With a sigh, he reached forwards to pick up the essay again when he caught sight of a little bit of pale blue sitting near the wall. Letting the half-graded paper stay on the table, he laced his fingers together and studied the young ghost with slightly narrowed eyes.

The childish spirit didn't notice, too busy running his hand through a wall over and over.

Severus slid open a drawer on his desk and fingered the letter that had come back from the exorcist he'd owled when the specter had first appeared. The letter had been uninformative and blandly dismissive. Apparently child-ghosts pass on quickly, most don't last more than a few weeks and, if it wouldn't be too much of a bother, don't owl back unless the ghost is actually causing problems. Severus could barely bite back a sneer at the thought of the pompous exorcist and the flippantly scribbled letter.

Reaching up to massage his arm, Severus watched the ghost lose interest with the wall and start to wander around the small room. Maybe the two were connected – the reappearance of the boy and the twinge in his arm. Perhaps the child was some victim of the Dark Lord, come back to haunt him.

"Wonderful," he grumbled sourly.

The ghost glanced his way with a smile, lips moving soundlessly as the boy chattered – no doubt filled with inane comments that Severus, thank Merlin, couldn't hear.

"There's _that_ anyway," he muttered as he picked up the paper to continue grading. "At least you're quiet and can't break anything."

Intent to finish the fourth year essays before the dinner bell, Severus buried his nose back in the messy scrawl, leaving the ghost to its own devices. But as he started writing comments in the margin, he found himself glancing back up at the ghost now and then.

At one point, as Severus was nearing the end of the second essay, he looked up to see the boy staring at a jar full of eyes. Severus quirked an eyebrow when the child peered closer and closer, his nose nearly touching the glass. Without a second thought, Severus reached his fingers for the wand under his sleeve and tapped it gently on the table with a whisper of a spell. On command, all the eyes turned to stare at the boy. The front eye blinked lazily.

The young ghost jumped, scooting backwards until he was nearly out the room. Severus snorted softly, shaking his head when the child turned wide eyes on him. After a few moments, the boy's eyes turned accusatory, one finger coming out to be silently shaken in his direction, mouth moving.

"Keep your nose out of my potions ingredients," Severus told him frankly, putting the wand back into the holster in his sleeve. "You're an unwanted distraction, not a dinner guest."

Arms crossing, the boy sulked over to a corner, sinking to the ground. Severus was going to go back to his grading, but the child's pout caught his attention. There was something familiar about it. Setting the essay aside, Severus focused on the boy.

The child was extremely skinny – which was not unsurprising in a ghost – with messy dark-colored hair and eyes that were startlingly large. Despite the pale blue that permeated the specter, his eyes looked almost green. In fact, they were unsettlingly familiar as well.

The eyes, combined with the pout and the defeated slump of his shoulders, brought back memories of a young woman with the same look, the same posture when things didn't go her way.

Severus found himself narrowing his eyes and searching the boy's forehead for any hint of a scar. He knew there was no way the vaunted Boy Who Lived could be dead without the magical world being in an uproar, but the similarity with Lily Potter had caught him off guard.

The ghost blinked and looked away, suddenly vanishing from sight.

"And stay away, if you don't mind," Severus said to the empty office, tapping his fingers on the stack of papers he should have been nearly half-way through by now.

He eyed the small calendar on his desk, finding the date he'd marked for nearly two months from now. That would be the day the snobbish ass of an exorcist would be down here to rid his office of the dead boy's presence if the child didn't 'pass on' on his own. Whether or not the woman actually agreed to come, Severus didn't quite care. Two more months.

Grabbing his quill and the paper he was nearly done grading, Severus gazed down at the lines. Finding himself unable to focus, Severus sighed and scribbled a note to himself on a spare piece of parchment. The similarities between the ghost and the Boy-Who-Lived were too great to ignore. He'd need to discover where that shrew of Lily's sister and slunk off to in the past few years. Perhaps it would be a good idea to check in on the boy, just in case.

.

...

.

**-3- Harry -3-**

_November 22, 1985_

_._

Harry was sitting up on the lowest branch of the tree, watching Duddy-kins playing with his new toy truck. There hadn't been any holiday that Harry knew about – Christmas was nearly a month away still – but the large boy had gotten a gift anyways. As usual, Harry watched, wondering what Dudley had done to deserve the toy.

He winced when Dudley drove the truck into the trunk of the tree over and over. The blonde boy grinned up at him as he smashed the truck again, this time much harder. Harry scowled.

"Wanna play, boy?" Dudley called up.

"No," Harry answered. "I got better toys up here."

Dudley made a dark sound, his face twisting into a confused frown. "No, you don't."

"Uh-huh." Harry reached clumsily for the next branch up, pulling himself to a standing position and teetering wildly. "Come see."

To Harry's surprise, Dudley actually reached for the branch Harry was standing on. It was easily within the boy's grasp. Dudley pulled himself most of the way up, his shoes scrabbling at the tree bark, before his grip gave way and he dropped heavily to the ground.

Harry froze, watching with wide eyes as Dudley's face screwed up into a red, wrinkled mess. When the boy let out a howl, Harry grabbed for the next branch up, pulling himself up higher and higher, hoping desperately to get out of his aunt's reach before she arrived.

"I would recommend against going any higher."

Harry hesitated at the voice – one that was just a little familiar, and certainly not the angry, chirping pitch of his aunt. He looked around, then slightly down towards the fence. A man was standing there, in a long leather coat, black hair tied behind his head. Coal-black eyes watched him from behind a sharp nose.

"You'll fall," the man continued after a moment, ignoring the sobbing boy on the ground completely.

The man was definitely familiar, although Harry couldn't quite place him. "Who're you?" he asked, climbing down a branch.

"Passing by," he drawled, eyes shifting. "Petunia."

Harry felt his blood run cold at the sound of his aunt's name. He twisted around, but not fast enough. Long, bony arms had already snagged him from the tree and set him non-too-gently on the ground. "In the house, now," she hissed in a tone that brokered absolutely no argument.

Harry ran.

"And you. You and all your kind stay away or I'm turning the boy out on the street before dark," her voice continued, pinched and carrying until the door clicked shut. Harry made his way to the cupboard and curled up inside, hoping his aunt would be so wrapped up in caring for Dudley that she would forget him if he stayed out of the way.

The sound of a lock sliding into place on the door ruined that plan. "Grounded," came her hissing voice. Harry thought there was some new note of terror to her tone. "Wait until your uncle gets home."

Harry wrapped himself up in his blanket and lodged himself as far under the stairs as he could go. Listening to his fuss over Dudley and whatever non-injury the boy had sustained, Harry closed his eyes.

The falling, flying sensation came quickly this time. Harry reached out with a hand to grab something – _anything_ – but the cupboard vanished out from beneath him. There was the snake again, curled up near his body, and Harry found himself in the strange dungeon classroom.

Breathing shakily, Harry peered around the now familiar-looking room. The tables were lined up across the room, the stack of pots cleaned and ready. The dream-man was standing over a cauldron in the front of the room, gazing down into it.

Slowly picking himself up off the ground, Harry walked over to the man and peered into the cauldron. It was filled with a bubbling, green goo. Harry wrinkled his nose, then looked up.

"You!" he said, his voice still not leaving his mouth.

The man's coal-black eyes and sharp nose turn slightly in his direction. "Back again, are you?" the man drawled with a shake of his head.

Harry's brain buzzed as he attempted to work out how the man could have shown up at his real house in Surrey, but the thoughts gave him nothing but a headache. He reached up a hand to rub at his eyes, then decided to let the idea drop. Dreams did strange things sometimes.

The man moved across the room, grabbing little glass jars as he went and stashing them into pockets. Harry watched, surprised that the man didn't make more noise as he walked. By the time he was back at the cauldron, Harry was sure the man had collected more jars than his pockets could possibly hold.

Pulling one of the jars out of his pocket, the man picked out a few strange-looking leaves and crumbled them into the green goo. The goo abruptly turned a bright, bloody red. Harry felt his mouth drop open slightly as he watched.

The man was counting softly to himself, now and then stopping to stir the mixture, then adding something new. The goop turned several spectacular shades of purple before settling on a fuzzy color that made Harry's eyes hurt to look at.

"Why are you still here?"

With a blink, Harry peered up at the man, who was slowly stirring the cauldron filled with the un-color of goo. "Can I watch?" he asked, but frowned when nothing but silence came from his mouth.

The man scowled darkly. "Can you at least tell me your name?"

Harry tried, but ended up just shaking his head, taking a small step back away from the frustrated man. When the black eyes narrowed dangerously, Harry retreated from the cauldron to find a place on the floor a dozen feet away. He brought his knees up to his chest, wrapped his arms around his legs, and rested his chin on his knees.

"People should die with ID tags on them," the man grumbled as he turned back to the potion. "Then I wouldn't have to travel around England to check on brats." He turned back abruptly, shaking a long finger in Harry's direction. "One more month, you know, and I'm getting that exorcist in here."

Not understanding what the man meant, Harry just smiled slightly.

The man sighed, shook his head, and picked the stirring rod out of the cauldron. Most of the rod was gone – the part that was left hissed and steamed. The man glanced at the remains of the stirring rod, gave the smallest smirk, and whispered, "Perfect. A couple hours to cool and that's done."

Grabbing another cauldron, the man started to set up for a new set of goo. Quickly, flames were licking at the black pot and strange things were being placed inside. The man moved smoothly and quietly, not bothering to check any of the books scattered around the room. Harry yawned.

"Now if only these were slightly higher quality," the man was muttering in his silky voice, so softly Harry couldn't quite make it out, "I'd have this done faster. And if these leaves weren't so bruised already."

Harry's eyes felt heavy as he watched the man pick through jars on the shelves around the room.

"What in Merlin's name happened to this?" The man was holding up a jar to the light, a heavy frown on his face. "Useless annoyances…"

There was something soothing in the man's quiet rant. Harry found his eyelids feeling heavier and heavier until sleep claimed him. Curled up on the stone floor of the strange dungeon room, Harry – oddly – felt safe.

A sharp banging sound jerked him from his sleep. He hit his head sharply on the bottom of the stairs. Rubbing at the sight, Harry peered tiredly around at the cupboard under the stairs. "No supper!" His uncle's booming voice made Harry wince. "And stay out of the bloody tree!"

.

...

.

**-4- Severus -4-**

_December 8, 1985_

_._

There were two times of the year Severus truly and absolutely despised. One fell in early May – the anniversary of his mother's death and his ill-fated plan to join the Dark Lord.

The other was Christmas. A holiday filled with _stuff_. Pointless well-wishes and wasted gifts on so-called friends. Severus was well aware of the story 'How the Grinch Stole Christmas' – the headmaster had gotten it for him the previous year during his 'make Severus a teacher' campaign. The book had come wrapped in red gift paper that sparkled with little golden baubles.

Severus had incinerated the wrapping paper, read the book, and then incinerated the book as well. The message had been loud and clear and completely unwarranted. Christmas, for some people, simply wasn't a holiday worth celebrating. The headmaster couldn't seem to understand.

So, during the monthly staff meeting to talk about the worst of the students, Severus could do little more than cross his arms and scowl as he listened to the other professors banter back and forth about the list of gifts they'd purchased, or were in the process of getting before the holiday arrived. Severus didn't have a list, so he joined in the conversation with a few well-placed glares and scowls and a steady, stone-cold silence. He wasn't going to take part in a silly waste of time.

By the time the rest of the teachers actually got around to talking about the lackluster students they were there to discuss, Severus had lost all semblance of patience with the holiday – even though the actual date was still weeks away. Thus, when Minerva McGonagall spoke up with a Christmas plan during a small break between going over Gregory Flint's most recent low test scores and the lackluster performance of a sixth-year Hufflepuff, Severus momentarily lost his control of his tongue.

"Perhaps we should do a Secret Santa this year," Minerva mentioned.

Before Flickwick could do more than nod his head and Trelawney open her mouth with some complaint about attempting to do a 'Secret_'_ Santa when one possesses the third eye, Severus growled out a dark, "No."

Several of the other professors frowned subtly at this. "But it's the holidays, Severus," the headmaster mentioned. "I know you're not fond of them-"

"I signed up to be Potions Master at this school, _not_," he glared, meeting a few peoples' eyes, "Santa Claus."

Albus Dumbledore sighed, shaking his head. There was a glitter in his eyes when he fixed them onto Severus's. "It'll be good for you, my boy."

Severus scowled and fixed his arms rigidly over his chest, looking away and biting the inside of his cheek. He knew what those words meant. He'd heard them six months earlier when signing the contract to join the school. He'd heard them a few months before that when he agreed to be hauled before the school's board of directors so the headmaster could explain why Severus was the best for the potions position.

He figured he'd be hearing that phrase a lot in the coming years. It was going to get on his nerves rather fast.

"I think we should give it a try," the old man said, addressing the rest of the staff. "Minerva, if you'd put everyone's name on a slip of paper? I'm sure we can find a hat."

Glaring at the wall, wishing the meeting could just be about the students they'd come to discuss, Severus was the first to notice a small, pale blue head stick itself through the door. He blinked, letting his rigid posture settle slightly.

The head, which was attached to the child-ghost who had been haunting his dungeon the past few months, smiled when it found his gaze and walked into the room. The boy peered closely at everyone, watching the adults busily pass McGonagall's hat around the table, then sidled along the wall to where Severus was sitting.

Tearing his eyes away from the ghost, Severus glanced up at the other professors. Nobody seemed to notice or care that the young boy was there. The child was just tall enough to peer over the top of the table at them. Short, but definitely noticeable.

"Your turn, Severus," came the headmaster's cheery voice.

Severus glanced at the hat which was being held out in his direction, grabbed a slip, and distractedly passed the hat on. There was still no comment about the ghost that had moved over to stand at Severus's side.

Eyes narrowing slightly, Severus watched as the professor next to him, Bathsheba Babbling, put an elbow right through the ghost's head. The boy noticed, turning a bewildered look on the woman, but she seemed none the wiser.

When the adults continued their conversation and paid the child no attention at all, Severus quietly muttered, "Interesting," and turned his attention back to the meeting.

…which was breaking up. Several of the professors were already on their feet, smiling and wishing each other a pleasant holiday. Severus drummed his fingers on the table, annoyed by the realization that the teachers were ignoring the students they'd come to discuss in favor of a silly holiday.

"W-will you be going h-h-home for the holidays, S-Severus?"

He turned to look up at the resident Muggle Studies professor. Quirinus Quirrell was extremely pale, but the man managed a slight smile while wringing his hands. The man's gaze never flickered down to the child by Severus's side. "I have too much to do," Severus informed him stiffly.

Minerva McGonagall walked up beside Quirrell's chair, her eyes sparkling under her reclaimed hat. "The teachers that stay always get together on Christmas Eve for a staff party. You're more than welcome to come."

"I'll remember that," Severus said, getting to his feet and heading towards the door.

"He's far too quiet," he heard Minerva mention as he pulled the door open and stalked into the hallway. "I think that's the longest conversation we've had all school year."

When Albus's voice cut in with a, "We're working on it," just before the door clicked shut on their conversation, Severus stiffened. He shot a dark scowl over his shoulder, then started striding down the hallway. A lone student scrambled out of his way.

The door to his classroom blew open, then slammed shut behind him. Severus stood in the middle of the room, glowering at anything and everything he could lay his hands on. Slowly he relaxed, breathing deeply, pushing the anger and frustration back. "I can handle my own life," he said, his voice back to its normal smooth tones. "I don't need meddling old men _working_ on things."

Turning on his heel, intent on finding a cup of tea and a book to read, Severus stopped when he found the little ghost standing near the door, peering up at him with those wide, almost-green eyes. The boy looked slightly intimidated, taking a small step backwards as Severus approached.

Severus paused, rearranged his expression into something a bit more neutral, and stepped up to the boy. "People put too much stock in talking," he told the ghost. "Remember that."

Mouth moving slightly, the ghost nodded, wrapping his arms around his skinny chest.

"I like quiet," he said, more to himself than the small spirit. Then he eyed the boy. "Does wonders for you. Only child I can get along with."

A smile crept onto the ghost's face.

Severus sighed and pushed the door open, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his robe as he walked towards his quarters. The ghost child started to follow, but disappeared abruptly somewhere near the old set of armor.

A bit of paper in his pocket caught his attention and Severus brought it out, peering at it in the flickering light of the dungeon hallways. _Albus Dumbledore_, it read. Severus shook his head as he remembered the Secret Santa thing. Crumpling up the paper, Severus sent the slip to the same place as the ill-thought-through present from last year. Besides, he wouldn't have put it past the old man to have changed _all_ the slips of paper to his name.

With the end of term feast in a mere two weeks and the students leaving for their holiday, Severus couldn't wait for the quiet of the Christmas break.

.

...

.

_To be continued..._


	2. Act 1 Chapter 2

_Thanks to Moi, MsFrizzle, delenda est c, Johanni93, The Magnetic Witch, Geriana, SapphireSecret, Verdantia, risi, Anne Camp aka Obi-Quiet, DarkRavie, and Rubellite Game for the reviews!  
_

_Sorry I forgot to post yesterday... 'S my birthday and I got busy._

* * *

**Harry Potter and the**

**Stone of Dreams**

* * *

**– Act 1: Foundations –**

* * *

.

**-5- Harry -5-**

_December 24, 1985_

_._

Harry watched from the top of the steps as his aunt carefully set decorations out around the house. A wreath had been hung in the window, complete with a little fake candle that flickered and glowed. Ribbons and bows decorated the pictures that hung on the walls. A large tree had been hauled in by Uncle Vernon, it's green branches hanging low.

Uncle Vernon, after carting in the tree with plenty of complaints, had settled himself in front of the television and was watching a game show and drinking some strange liquid. Dudley, with his before-Christmas present already opened to reveal a small hand-held game system, was settled in the other chair, eyes glued to the little screen. Aunt Petunia was decorating the tree, slowly putting up ornaments.

She'd asked if they wanted to help. Uncle Vernon had grunted. Dudley hadn't answered. Harry had sat there silently, wondering what would happen if he offered.

But none of those ornaments were his. Christmas – as he'd been reminded a few times over the past few days – was not a holiday for orphans and freaks. There would be no presents under the tree for him. No stocking full of candy when he woke up Christmas morning. Santa didn't come for freaks.

He picked at a loose bit of skin near his fingernail, wishing he had parents, if only just for tonight. Then Santa would come and bring him a present. Nothing big – he wasn't greedy. Maybe a ball to play with. Or a toy truck, like the one Dudley had broken. Or maybe just some candy, that way he could hide it and Dudley wouldn't be able to take it away.

The tall man in his dreams didn't like Christmas. Harry thought maybe he didn't much like Christmas either.

"Boy!"

Harry flinched and looked up at the sound of his uncle's voice. He scooted down the stairs and stood at the bottom, eying his uncle. From here, he could hear the little electronic sounds Dudley's game was making.

"Get me more eggnog."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, slipping through the living room and into the kitchen. He pulled the little stool over to the counter, climbed up, and grabbed the cardboard container Vernon had been pouring drinks from. Careful to not spill, he worked his way back into the living room and handed the container to his uncle. Harry took the moment to look at Dudley's game, watching little black and gray images move around on the screen. When he felt the container get set on his head, Harry grabbed for it.

"Wanna try some?" Uncle Vernon asked suddenly.

Harry glanced up at his uncle, then did a double-take when he realized the man was looking at him. "Me?"

"Yes, you boy." He held out the cup, now full of the creamy liquid. "It can be a present for you. Freaks and orphans don't normally deserve eggnog."

Harry eyed his uncle, then the cup. Then he nodded, slowly and uncertainly, setting down the rest of the container. "Is it good?"

"Yup," the man said with a smirk. He pushed the cup into Harry's hands.

Bringing the cup up to his lips, Harry took a small sip. The thick liquid burned on his tongue and made him cough and his eyes water. He handed the cup back to his uncle, realizing the man was laughing hysterically.

"Oh, come on. Can't freaks handle a little eggnog?" Uncle Vernon got out between bursts of laughter.

His aunt was giggling too, having paused from her ornament hanging-up to watch. "Good try, Vernon," she said.

Harry felt his face warm as he grabbed the container of eggnog and carted it back into the kitchen. After setting it on the counter, he retreated to his cupboard under the stairs, closing the door. He rubbed at his tongue with the back of his hand, trying to get the taste of the eggnog out of his mouth.

Wrapping the blanket around his shoulders, Harry curled himself into a tight ball under the stair stringers and decided to just wait for Christmas to be over. Uncle Vernon's game show came through the door loud and clear, and Harry found himself listening until the sounds shut off.

"Dinner, Duddies," his aunt called from near the door to the cupboard. Harry's door opened and his aunt glanced in, a plate in her hands. "Well, pout in here then," she said with a dismissive shrug, setting the plate on the ground. The door shut again, this time with the slight rattle of the lock being slid into place.

Harry could smell the dinner his Aunt had spent the day cooking. Mouth watering, Harry crept over to the plate, feeling his heart sink when he saw the sandwich and small bowl of soup that had been left for him. Slowly picking at the luke-warm supper, Harry had to listen to the boisterous conversation of the Dursleys eating their Christmas meal.

Eventually he pushed away the mostly-eaten food and curled up on his mattress. Sleep would allow him to dream, and his dreams would take him to the strange castle filled with odd people and magic sticks and the tall man that hated Christmas.

Closing his eyes, it didn't take long for the falling-flying sensation to grab hold of him and send him careening through the sky. Almost managing to stay on his feet this time, Harry stumbled through a table before landing on his hands and knees. He paused, taking a second to look at his pale blue, see-through hands, then clambered to his feet.

The dark room was empty. None of the usual fires burned under the cauldrons. Harry walked over to the door that lead to dream man's office and stuck his head through. That room was empty as well.

Taking the opportunity to look around, Harry peered closely at the ingredients left in the jars. The eyes didn't blink at him this time, seemingly content to just drift in green juice. One of the jars seemed to be full of dead mice. Harry wrinkled his nose but watched them for the longest time, waiting for one to move.

Losing his patience with waiting for the man to show up, Harry walked around the room one last time, then headed through the door and into the hallway. He hadn't left the dungeon rooms before. Wide eyes took in a long, dark corridor with flickering torches here and there. A strange metal man stood with a tall sword near the door to the classroom. Harry walked over and looked at it. Then put his head through it, trying to see if he could find out what was inside. It was the darkest of blacks.

Something pinched sharply at his nose. Harry jerked his head out of the statue, rubbing at his sore nose and gazing at the metal man in surprise. Something black and shiny stared at him from the space where the eyes should be. Harry gazed back until the thing vanished from sight.

Leaving the metal man behind, he slowly made his way along the hallway, looking into classrooms and doors and occasionally rubbing his nose, trying to figure out where the tall man had run off to. It being Christmas Eve, Harry was sure the man was at his home, reading a book or drinking tea or one of the other things the man liked to grumble about. Unfortunately, Harry wasn't sure where the man's home was.

"Bleeding Hell," came a panting voice. "I'm late."

Harry stood off to the side, watching as an older boy hurry down the hallway, fixing a green tie. He smiled and waved, but the boy didn't seem to notice him. Harry let his arm drop to his side as the boy passed him. With a shrug, Harry turned to follow.

His legs a good deal shorter than the older boy's, Harry had to run to keep up. It was sort of fun, chasing someone through the deserted castle corridors. He followed the boy with the green tie through a number of twists and turns and staircases before losing sight of him. Harry, panting for breath, stumbled to a stop.

That's when he heard the sounds of a party. He tipped his head to the side, eyes narrowing slightly as he searched for the source of the noise. A few steps to the left and he pressed his hands against a set of large, heavy-looking wooden doors. His hands went straight through, accompanied by that strange cold, tingling sensation. Wrinkling his nose and fighting back a sneeze, Harry walked through the door.

What he saw when he stepped into the room made his eyes widen. A star-filled sky glowed overhead with a bright three-quarter moon floating in the middle. Dangling in midair were dozens of candle-filled chandeliers that gleamed with flickering light. Long tables stretched from one end of the room to the other, each adorned with a different set of colors. Huge Christmas trees stood around the room, sparkling with fairy lights.

And down at the end of the room, seated around a high table, was a group of adults and kids. They were laughing and passing around dishes of treats. An elderly man had a hat that looked like an actual reindeer, complete with a glowing red nose, and he when waved his magic stick, holiday music flowed into the room.

Harry crept down the rows of tables, watching the party carefully as he stepped up to the small stage where the table had been set. There were several steps leading up to the party. He gazed at them, then up at the table, trying to decide if he wanted to go up.

One of the partiers - the only one without a smile - glanced in his direction. The dream man's eyes widening slightly, and the scowl on his face grew. Harry grinned, waving at him. The man looked away, grabbing his cup of tea.

The old man chose that moment to take the reindeer hat from his head and plop it onto the dream man's head. "It's Christmas, Severus. Cheer up," the man told him with a twinkle in his eye.

Severus, still scowling darkly, swiped the hat from his head and started to stand. "I have a dozen potions brewing, Headmaster..."

"Sit down, my boy," the old man said blandly. But Harry could see that the twinkle had left his eye.

The man dropped back into his chair. "Yes, Sir," he ground out, his fingers white-knuckled around the silly hat.

Harry slid past the students, seemingly unseen, and came to stand next to Severus. His nose was barely on level with the top of the table. He looked around at the table overflowing with food and treats, then noticed the hat still in Severus's clenched fingers. Intrigued by the blinking brown eyes and the flickering glow of its nose, Harry reached out a finger to brush over the fur. His finger, instead, went through the fabric.

"What are you doing here?" came a whispered hiss.

Harry looked up at the man, startled by the glare he was receiving, and went for a hopeful smile. He'd stopped trying to talk weeks ago.

Severus glanced from him to the people at the table, then back. His scowl faded after a moment. Letting out a resigned sigh and sinking back against his chair, the hat dropped to the floor. "Why are you haunting me today, Lily..." he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Confused, Harry just blinked up at him. When the man grabbed his cup of tea and seemed intent on ignoring Harry's presence, the boy turned his eyes back to the table. It wasn't just Severus ignoring him. _Nobody_ was paying any attention to him.

He eyed the plates overflowing with food. A particularly moist-looking bird was sitting closest to Harry's nose. He could smell the meat and cranberry stuffing. His stomach twinged, reminding him of his short and cold supper. Slowly, keeping his eye on the man and the other adults around the table, he reached out a hand. Hoping for a bit of the stuffing, Harry tried to snag some.

Only his hand went through. Letting his arm fall to his side, Harry sighed. He probably should have known better. Stepping back from the table, he noticed the dream man staring at him with a weird look in his eye.

"What are you looking at, Severus?" a woman with a green hat and a thick burr to her voice asked.

The man glanced in her direction, eyes narrowed. "None of your business, Minerva," he muttered stiffly.

She hummed, apparently not noticing as Harry lowered himself to the ground and crossed his legs. "You're far too quiet," she told him. "It's not healthy for a first year professor to hide himself away."

"I assure you I'm fine," Severus said, hitching his shoulders up slightly towards his ears. "I had plenty of experience tutoring when I was earning my Mastery-"

"Surely you can admit that tutoring and teaching are vastly different," she interrupted.

She opened her mouth to say more, but Severus crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. "If I need your assistance, I will ask." Harry knew that tone of voice from his aunt. It meant 'end of conversation'.

The woman in the green hat had apparently never met Harry's aunt. "We're just worried about you, Severus-"

"If you'll excuse me," the man said as he got to his feet. "I have wasted enough time this evening. Several of my potions will go to waste if I do not tend to them." He stalked down the table, seemingly uncaring about the stares he was getting.

"Severus," said the old man with the twinkling eyes.

"Good night, Headmaster." Severus hesitated, just a moment, when he was standing in front of Harry. Harry stared up at him, but the man didn't even glance in his direction. He just walked past, gliding down the steps and out the thick double doors.

Harry climbed to his feet, about to follow, when the old man at the front of the table stood up. The man was wearing a long bathrobe with falling snow on it. The snow actually seemed to fall through the fabric and gather at his feet and the ends of his arms. When the man pulled out his stick and waved it in the air, the snow that had gathered on his sleeves avalanched down his robe to pile at his feet. "I believe it is time for desert and games!"

Light glittered on the table. The food vanished, to be replaced with more plates of chocolates and fudges and puddings than Harry could even believe existed. One of the puddings was even on fire! Harry's eyes were wide as he gazed at the seemingly endless decadence.

"Crackers!" one student yelped happily, picking up a little tube with pulls on each end. She handed one end to another student. Harry watched in amazement as the two yanked in opposite directions. With a billow of red smoke and a huge _bang_ that made Harry jump, white mice started racing around the room. The students laughed. Harry stared.

"I want one," he whispered, his voice inaudible, imagining Dudley's reaction to the smoke and the mice. A grin slowly split his face. He took a few steps forwards, reaching out a hand for the table, before he stopped and let out a little groan of disappointment.

Another _bang_ and billow of smoke - this time purple - caught Harry's gaze. He watched the kids who'd pulled the cracker pick up strange-looking hats and perch them on their heads. Coming to the sudden realization that he couldn't be a part of this, not really, he took a few steps backwards. His eyes burned. His stomach twisted.

It was unfair, he thought. In his real life, he wasn't allowed to do anything. And in his dreams, he was trapped - unseen and untouchable.

Ignoring the chatter of the people around the table, Harry climbed off the stage, raced back across the long room, and worked his way through the confusing maze of hallways and corridors until he found the familiar suit of armor and a heavy door with a glass vial etched into it.

He slipped through the door, across the classroom, and then to Severus's office. The man was sitting in a chair, holding a cup of tea in his hands and staring blankly at the crackling fire. Harry walked up to him and settled down next to the chair, watching the fire flickering against the logs.

"Not a fan of Christmas?"

Harry looked up at Severus. Then he shook his head.

The man sighed. "Me neither." He slumped back against his chair, loosing the stiff posture and straight back he usually kept. "This is much better than that disaster of a meal."

Harry nodded, watching the dream man. Severus's hair hung in his eyes and the robes he was wearing looked heavy. When the man shot him a glance, Harry found a small smile to offer.

The tiniest smile twitched at the corners of Severus's mouth. "Happy Christmas, ghost."

Harry mouthed back a simple, "Happy Christmas."

The sound of sharp banging made Harry sit up and look around. Severus didn't seem to hear anything. Harry looked over his shoulder trying to find the source of the banging.

"Boy!"

Harry was suddenly wide awake. The stone room and crackling fire vanished like a popped balloon and he was back in his little cupboard. He blinked at the door, at the sound of his aunt's hand banging against the slats. "Yeah?" he asked, yawning sleepily.

"Come help clean."

Harry watched the shadow of his aunt march away and stretched. Running a hand through his hair, Harry pushed the door to his cupboard open and sulked into the kitchen. He caught sight of the Christmas tree decorated in the family room and felt a clench of sadness. Christmas was ever so much more real when he was awake, but it was just as impossible for him to reach.

As he pushed the step stool up to the kitchen sink and started running water, Harry sighed and wished he was still asleep.

.

...

.

**-6- Severus -6-**

_February 19, 1986_

.

"Back again?" Snape muttered darkly when the Dark Mark on his arm twinged in a way that was becoming almost familiar. He looked up from the piles of paperwork on his desk. The raw amount of paperwork associated with OWL and NEWT testing was something Severus had not been prepared for. And the Ministry of Education required it all completed three months in advance. In triplicate.

The ghost child blinked back at him, that strange little smile growing on his face. His dark hair looked messier than usual, his odd blue-green eyes glittering with some sort of internal joke. For the hundredth time, Severus felt his heart clench at the uncanny copy of his best friend's face.

After four months, Severus was getting used to the boy's presence. It helped that the child was absolutely silent, gone most of the time, and apparently unseen by everyone else in the school. The boy's random appearances were something Severus was starting to take in stride... although he did send the child his fair share of dark glares. The child always met the glare with that small, sort of timid, and completely unsettling smile.

"You need a name," Severus continued, setting aside the piles of paper and gazing at the boy. "As you seem to not get the hint that I'd rather you stay away, I refuse to call you 'ghost' any longer."

The child cracked a grin at that and gestured at his head.

Severus snapped his fingers. "Learned to speak yet?"

The response was a shake of his head and a scowl. The boy's mouth moved, like he was trying to talk, but no sound emerged.

Severus tapped his fingers against his desk, slowly rolling from his pinkie to his pointer finger, and then back. "Do you have a preference?"

With a shrug, the boy pointed towards himself, then at his mouth, then up at the sky.

"I refuse to play charades to determine your name," he informed the child idly, forcing himself to stop drumming his fingers and sit still.

The small ghost looked at him curiously, head tipped to the side.

Severus assumed it was over the concept of 'charades' and waved his hand in dismissal. "I will pick a name for you and, unless you have an objection, we will proceed with that name until you can inform me of something more suitable."

Eyebrows knitting together, the kid blinked at him. With his bottom lip worried between his teeth and those eerie eyes watching him in that intent way, Severus saw someone he recognized.

"Evans," he whispered.

The child tipped his head a bit further to the side.

Taking a deep breath, Severus sat up in his chair. "Yes, I suppose that will do."

Two eyebrows went up on the kid's face, one a hint higher than the other.

"I'll call you Evan."

The boy's forehead furrowed and he seemed to be mouthing the name to himself a few times. After a few beats, the child shrugged and nodded, that little smile on his face.

Severus let out the breath slowly, shaking his head. "What I did to be haunted by you…" he muttered, picking up his quill and the stack of papers again. "A victim of the Dark Lord and now named after my best friend." Severus didn't think about the fact that he'd been the one to name the child mere seconds ago.

As he gazed at the papers he was supposed to be filling out – term grades, performances on certain labs, expected performance levels – his mind drifted to the letter from the exorcist. How the woman had said to write her if the ghost hadn't gone away by the new year.

His gaze slipped over to his strange young companion, who'd apparently lost interest in just sitting there watching him grade papers. The child was staring at the various potions ingredients, putting his whole face into several of the jars to get a closer look. Severus arched an eyebrow, not sure if he should be amused or annoyed.

Pushing the idea of the exorcist from his mind yet again, Severus sighed, shook his head, and then set himself to actually finishing this paperwork before it was due.

"At least he's quiet," he murmured.

.

...

.

**-7- Harry -7-**

_March 1, 1986_

.

There were not many things that Harry really looked forwards to as a young child. His cousin's birthday, when Harry would be dropped off with the old cat lady down the street, was one. His aunt's weekly book meetings were another, when Harry would have the house to himself and get to watch TV, was another.

Today, as Harry watched a freak spring snowstorm dump centimeters and centimeters of snow on the streets of Surrey, he knew there was something special going to happen. Even Dudley, who had recently started karate lessons with the man a few streets over, was leaving him alone. Both of them were staring out the window.

"Think Mum will let us go out and play?" Dudley asked after a few minutes.

Harry didn't bother to answer. He just watched the snow fall and wondered what he'd do if he were with the dream man, Severus. He imagined his dreams being real. Of Severus leaving his papers on his desk and taking him outside to play and teach him how to make a proper snowball. Uncle Vernon had said he was going to once – well, he'd told that to Dudley and Harry simply hoped to listen in – but the man hadn't brought it up again and Harry didn't dare to ask.

By the time Harry pulled his head back to reality, Dudley had lost interest in the snow and was flipping through channels on the television. Harry could hear the sounds of cartoons start to fill the quiet house.

There was something about snow that made Harry's brain feel muddled, like it was wrapped in a blanket. He sometimes wondered if everyone felt that way or if it was just him, but today he just crossed his arms on the windowsill, rested his chin on his arms, and watched the little white specks twirl and twist.

He could hear hissing. It was quiet, and seemed to come from between his ears. Harry sat up a little, looking around confused. Then he looked down.

His body was lying half on the couch, half against the windowsill, slowly breathing in and out. The snake – curled up next to him and Dudley on the couch, gazed at him with red eyes. The tongue flicked in and out. Harry stood up, watching the snake.

"_Potter_…" came the soft hiss of the snake.

Harry took a step back, even as the snake curled around his sleeping body. "Who are you?"

The eyes shone bloody red. A green, flickering light rose around the snake. "_Avada_-"

And then the snake was gone. Harry's sleeping body was gone. The house in Little Whinging was gone. For a beat, there wasn't anything. Then he stumbled to a stop in the castle.

Harry looked around, startled by all the commotion in the normally quiet and peaceful dungeon. Students were everywhere, bubbling and boiling different concoctions in their cauldrons. Sinking to a crouch, Harry's eyes widened until he caught sight of Severus.

"Severus-" he tried, but his voice was caught in his throat. With a frustrated shake of his head, he got to his feet and slipped past the students. Nobody seemed to notice he was there. "Severus!" When he got to the man's feet, Harry grinned up at him.

Severus glanced down at him, the man's dark eyes widening slightly and his sour diatribe halting for a moment. Harry's mind was filled with the idea of a snowball fight, so he pointed towards the door with a smile on his face.

The man actually glanced at the door, then back at him. With a scowl, Severus turned his attention back to the students in the room.

Disappointed, Harry let his arm drop back to his side. He slunk towards the other side of the classroom, wanting to at least make it outside and see if it was snowing in his dream world too, but the sounds of his aunt's vacuum dragged him away from the castle and back to the real world.

Eyes feeling heavy from the short nap, Harry sighed and pushed away from the window, looking around for the snake he'd seen. His aunt stuck her head into the room, saw him sitting on the couch, and pursed her lips. "Out," she snapped after a moment, pointing towards the back door. "And take Dudders with you."

With a grin, Harry headed out to play in the freshly fallen snow.

.

...

.

_To be continued..._


	3. Act 1 Chapter 3

_Perhaps I should change my New Years Resolution from every seven days to every eight... since that's what I seem to be doing. :) But life's been crazy. Since the last time I updated, we had a major house fire in our rental property. The home, and everything inside, is a total loss__. _Be_ happy I'm updating at all this week.  
_

_Little longer update for you, as an apology. :)_

_Thanks to BiblioMatsuri, MsFrizzle, Serendipital, Crystal R. Black, risi, Johanni93, delenda est c,Mel72000, Catcrazzed, Verdantia, SapphireSecret, and DarkRavie for their reviews!_

* * *

**Harry Potter and the**

**Stone of Dreams**

* * *

**– Act 1: Foundations –**

* * *

.

**-8- Severus -8-**

_April 29, 1986_

_._

Standing in the back of the room, watching his first years work on one of the harder potions of the year, Severus wondered if naming the little ghost after his best friend was the worst idea he'd come up with. Ever since the child had earned the moniker of 'Evan', Severus had seen more and more of his old friend coming out in the child.

The boy was wandering around the room and peering into the various cauldrons with the same sort of wide-eyed awe that Lily had often worn when discussing magic. It left Severus with a thought that perhaps the child was muggleborn. Or, perhaps, raised in a halfblood family with little magic.

With a scowl, Severus focused back on the living students. He stalked over towards one unlucky Gryffindor – a young William Weasley. Eldest son in a rather prolific family, rumor had it that Severus would be dealing with the Weasley brood, red hair and freckles on the lot of them, for the next fifteen years.

"What is this?" Severus asked as he peered down into the cauldron. Even with a mastery in potions, Severus wasn't sure how the child had managed to turn his potion vomit orange.

The boy gazed up at him. "A shrinking solution?" the young Weasley tried.

"Hardly," Severus muttered with his arms crossed over his chest and a sneer in his voice. How anyone could mess up a shrinking solution to _this_ extent, Severus didn't understand. Pulling out his wand, Severus tapped the cauldron, vanishing the dismal effort. "Try again." He stabbed his finger at the book. "Try _reading_ the directions, Mr. Weasley."

The kid scowled darkly, but Severus paid no mind as he brushed past. The next student's attempt was, somehow, even more disappointing than Weasley's. Severus rubbed at the bridge of his nose.

"Why did I take this job?" he murmured, swooping over to stop a child from throwing dried seagrass – _seagrass_ of all things – into a shrinking solution. "Where," he snapped, "does it say anything about seagrass in the directions?"

The girl in question, hand firmly grasped by Severus, had wide eyes as she pointed towards the textbook. "Th-th-there?"

Annoyed by the questioning tone in her voice, Severus glanced down at the directions. Then looked again. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, before answering. "You are on the wrong page, Ms. Carmichael."

The girl turned a unique shade of red. She whispered something that Severus was going to accept as an apology. He let her hand go and was about to turn away, but the little ghost was standing there, peering down into the cauldron with a curious expression on his face. Severus stared at Evan, surprised by the interest glittering in the boy's blue-green eyes. Severus glanced towards the red-faced student and sighed. "Why is adding seagrass to a shrinking solution generally considered to be a bad idea?"

Turning from red to white, the girl stammered a moment. "It's a plant?"

Severus narrowed his eyes at the answer. "There are many _plants_ in a shrinking solution," he scowled.

The girl let out a short breath and stared down at her feet.

Frustrated at the response, Severus twisted on his hell to head for the next student, to leave this one – a child that obvious didn't want to study and learn – to fail, when two inquisitive young eyes caught his gaze from over the bubbling potion. The ghost smiled slightly, chewing on his lip as he blinked down into the cauldron.

Severus fought back a shudder. For half a heartbeat, it had been Lily Evans staring at him.

Momentarily out of his mind, Severus found himself actually explaining the answer to his question. "Seagrass is ocean plant," he said, failing dismally at sounding patient. "A water-based ingredient. Water-based ingredients are mainly used in healing potions and potions that act on the mind and emotions, to increase capacities such as intuition, dreams, and peace."

Ms. Carmichael was staring at him like he'd grown another eye. The little ghost was listening carefully, his head tipped to the side.

"A shrinking solution is an earth-based potion," he continued. There was a nasty twist to his voice by this point. "Which is a much more suitable category for potions that deal with change and transfiguration." He arched an eyebrow. "What happens when you mix a water-based ingredient into an earth-based potion?"

The girl seemed to shrink inside of herself. "Bad things?"

Severus stabbed a finger in the direction of the potion. "Yes," he sneered. "_Bad things_. A rather deadly and Dark poison, for one. As your victim dies a painful death from his organs starting to shrivel and shrink without the rest of him, he'll fall in love with whatever he lays his eyes on. A chair, perhaps. This is, of course, if you properly prepare the seagrass and prevent the explosion that was about to occur when you _just toss in a whole handful at once."_ The idea of potions exploding in his classroom never failed to get on his nerves.

Ms. Carmichael shrank in on herself a little more. Evan stared down into the potion, eyes wide, and looked as though he wanted to put in the seagrass just to see what would happen.

With a scowl, Severus stalked away from the girl. As he circled the room, correcting child after child until his nerves were completely frayed, it struck him that the only being in the room that seemed to be interested in learning was the little ghost. Pausing near the board and crossing his arms over his chest, Severus eyed the bustling room. Students were leaning over cauldrons, crushing ingredients, and paging disinterestedly through their textbooks. And wandering through the room was one young ghost.

Evan was practically a student by this point, showing up at all hours of the day and night. The ghost would show up with no warning other than a twinge in Severus's Dark Mark. Then he would vanish again, sometimes after a few minutes, sometimes not for hours. None of the students were any the wiser.

It seemed to be a personal haunting, from what _reliable _books Severus had found on the subject. For the child to be only visible to him…

Severus let his gaze settle on the young ghost. What sort of afterlife did this child deserve? His soul entangled with Severus's so firmly that he couldn't even be seen by others?

Evan was staring down into Weasley's cauldrom, a look of disgust growing on the ghost's face. Severus arched an eyebrow at the green steam coming from the boy's potion, realizing the child had gotten the potion wrong yet again. With a dark sigh and a glance towards the clock, Severus knew he would just have to let the boy finish the mess. There's wasn't time to restart anymore.

But then the little ghost pointed towards the Shrivelfig, which the young Weasley had forgotten to include before tossing in the rat spleen.

Severus snorted softly and shook his head. At least _someone_ was learning how to make a proper shrinking solution.

.

...

.

**-9- Harry -9-**

_May 3, 1986_

_._

Harry liked the days when Dudley went to his karate class. He wasn't too fond of the kicks and punches Dudley practiced when he got home, but the time alone was nice. From his place sprawled on the couch, Harry could watch the driveway for any sign of his relative's car.

Today, though, something was different. When the car pulled up the driveway, Dudley got out of the car alone and walked into the house. Instead of his usual kick-the-door-in and karate-chop-Harry's-head routine, he just quietly slumped into the living room and sat next to Harry on the couch.

"You sick?" Harry asked after a moment, eying the dirty footprints from Dudley's shoes. Aunt Petunia was rather particular about her clean carpet. Not even Dudley was allowed to walk on the carpet with shoes.

Dudley didn't answer. He didn't the remote. He just sat there, staring at the TV, apparently content to watch whatever cartoons Harry had been watching.

"Where are your parents?"

Again, no answer.

Harry looked out the window, climbing up on the couch to be tall enough to see over the bushes and into the car sitting in the driveway. Both adults were still sitting in the car. From the color of his uncle's face, Harry figured they were arguing. They always argued in the car.

"What did you do?" Harry asked, quite amazed. When they went out to the car, it was usually to yell about Harry. He turned to look at Dudley, but the other boy was pale and quiet. He'd wrapped his arms around his chest and was just staring at the TV.

Unsure of what was going on, but knowing there was something wrong, Harry turned around and held out the remote. "What do you want to watch?"

Dudley glanced at the remote, then shrugged.

Slightly frustrated with the lack of answers, Harry just huffed and settled down next to his cousin to watch cartoons. But at the next set of commercials, Harry noticed that Dudley wasn't even _watching_ the show. In an attempt to get an answer, Harry asked, "Do you want to karate-chop something?"

Dudley burst into tears, hopped off the couch, and raced upstairs to his room.

Harry, mouth open in surprise, watched his cousin vanish. The door to Dudley's bedroom slam shut. Harry's attention turned back to the car, to where his relatives were still sitting. Still arguing.

It took another half hour before Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon walked into the house. His aunt's face was drawn and white. His uncle looked red and murderous. Harry, who'd turned off the TV when he'd heard the doorknob turn, slipped off the couch and into the kitchen. It was best to stay out of his relatives' way when they were in a snit.

"I won't let a _thing_ like that man near my child ever again," Uncle Vernon was saying. His voice was rough, like he'd been yelling for a long time.

"I still think we should be calling the police," his aunt put in. Her voice was strained.

"Lazy idiots, the lot of them. Won't do a bloody thing to call them," Vernon muttered, barely loud enough for Harry to hear from his place in the kitchen where he'd grabbed a broom and was sweeping. "I'd rather deal with him myself. And I will, you hear me, if he ever so much as lays a finger on my Dudley. Appropriate or otherwise."

There was a sound like his aunt was crying. "Don't get yourself in trouble over _someone_ like that." After a beat of silence, his aunt's voice put in a soft, "Perhaps Duddy should go see someone."

"No." Vernon's voice was final. "I refuse to have my son labeled because of something he didn't do. Mind-bending _shrinks_ are almost worse than the police sometimes. We'll deal with it ourselves."

Harry, worried about the tone of his uncle's voice, quietly put the broom back in its place by the door and slunk down the hallway. He could just barely see them, sitting in the family room. His aunt was perched on the couch, apparently unaware of the dirty footprints, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief. His uncle was in the recliner. Harry'd never seen the man so angry and tense.

Something was very, very wrong. The knowledge hit Harry like a punch to the gut. Something had happened to Dudley, although Harry wasn't quiet sure what.

Slipping into his cupboard, Harry silently pulled the door shut behind him and huddled in the corner, holding the blanket securely around him. Strange little shudders worked through his body.

Curled up under his blanket, Harry watched the shadows shift through the slats of his cupboard as his relatives moved back and forth. He waited for them to come get him, to explain what was going on, or – at the very least – to have him finish sweeping the kitchen floor. But they never came. And, eventually, Harry drifted off to sleep.

Harry dreamed of the castle almost every night, now. When he felt his body fall through the floor, he welcomed the sensation, pushing away from the strangeness of the Dursleys.

The world settled and his eyes opened. He was in the dungeon room, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the last class of the day. Severus was moving around, yelling at students to properly clean their cauldrons, and collecting samples of the potions they'd been brewing. Most of the potions he was collecting were a nice shade of grass green. A few were other shades of green. One was purple.

Severus met his gaze and nodded just a bit, which made a tiny grin to come to Evan's face. He waved. Severus's eyes narrowed.

When the last of the students were gone and the place was clean, Severus set the vials on the corner of his desk and walked over to where Evan was standing. His robes billowed like smoke. "What's wrong?" he demanded, his voice low and icy.

Unable to answer, and not knowing what he'd say even if he could speak, Evan stuffed his hands into his pockets and shrugged. His eyes drifted down to study the stones in the floor. There was nothing he'd like more than to explain what was on his mind, to get the dream man to tell him what had happened to his cousin.

There was silence. Evan glanced up in time to see Severus shake his head. The man walked over to his desk, jotted a few notes down on some paper, and then said, "Come along."

Startled at the rather gentle tone of voice, Evan trailed Severus out the door and down the hallway. Past the old armor with the dark thing living inside, past the picture of the scary-looking guy holding a snake, and then to the old door that lead to Severus' home. The man pushed the door open and stalked inside.

Evan had been in Severus's home many, many times over the past few months. Like the other dungeon rooms, it was made of cold stone and thick rugs. The small apartment had a tiny window in the main room, another in his bedroom, and a soft-looking chair by the fireplace. Evan left Severus in the kitchen to settle down by the fire and stare at the crackling flames.

There was a strange sort of comfort here - one that Evan couldn't explain. Maybe it was the fire. Maybe it was the dream man, quietly walking around the kitchen and making himself a sandwich. Maybe it was the fact that the whole thing was a dream and nothing bad could happen to him. Whatever the reason, Evan started to feel himself relax. He laid down on the floor, arms behind his head, and watched the firelight flicker on the ceiling.

"Have I ever told you about my mother?" Severus asked after he'd settled into his chair, sandwich and cup of tea ready.

Evan turned his head to look at the man, then shook his head.

"She always made me a tuna sandwich on days when things didn't quite go right." The man picked up the sandwich – tuna, Evan noted – and took a bite. Evan wished he could have one too. "Tuna-fish days, she used to call them."

Not knowing what to make of the strange tone in Severus's voice, Evan just watched him and didn't move.

"There was this one time when I was young, maybe about your age. My father…" Severus trailed off. "My father was coming back from a week of work away from home, and my mother was busy cleaning for him and making him supper. I knew I wasn't supposed to bother her, so I went out to play with one of my friends."

The fire crackled loudly as a log shifted.

"I didn't have very good friends as a child," Severus turned the tuna fish sandwhich around in his fingers. "This particular day, my friend decided to con me into climbing up a tree as high as I could. I, inevitably, got stuck. My friend found this hilarious. I stayed up in that tree for hours and hours, well past the point where my father had gotten home."

Evan wondered what his relatives would do if he were stuck in a tree. Probably tell him it was his own fault and leave him to learn to fly.

"My mother came looking for me when it got dark. My father did too, which ended up being somewhat unfortunate. When I heard my mother's voice calling for me, I made an attempt to climb down the tree and slipped and fell. It was a… long ways down."

With a wince, Evan nodded.

Severus sighed. "It was the first time I did magic. I floated down instead of breaking my neck like I should have. My father was less than pleased."

'Magic?' Evan mouthed, sitting up. He knew the man could do neat things with his stick, but to have the man so bluntly call it 'magic' was new.

There was a small, odd-looking smirk on Severus's face as he sipped from his tea. "I remember the argument that night, how my parents screamed and yelled at each other. My father eventually won – he always did – and I was severely punished. Whether it was for climbing the tree or doing magic, I was never sure."

Evan's forehead wrinkled as he watched Severus chew on his tuna fish sandwich.

"My mother brought me tuna sandwiches for nearly two weeks after that," he said. His voice was gentle. "She would sit with me and tell me stories about when she first started to learn magic. Tea and tuna fish. My mother's solution to every problem ever invented."

When Severus was quiet for a very long time, Even laid back down and turned his attention back to the fire. The little flickers of orange and yellow danced before his eyes. His eyes felt heavy.

"She died," Severus said softly, his voice brushing against the quiet that had settled into Evan's mind. "Seven years ago today."

Evan yawned and stopped fighting the heaviness. He let his eyes close.

.

...

.

-**10- Severus -10-**

_June 15, 1986_

.

_I would like to set up a time to meet with you in the coming week._

_-A. Dumbledore_

Severus crumpled the note into a little ball. Only one year of teaching at Hogwarts under his belt and Severus was ready to call it quits. For all that he'd signed a three-year contract with the school, Severus had a list of reasons for why he should find something else to occupy his time. He was one of the most gifted young men in potions in all of England – surely he could find a job that _didn't_ require him to deal with children and an old man that couldn't keep his nose out of other people's business.

However, he wasn't sure the headmaster would let him leave. The man had pulled strings and called in favors to get him this job. For whatever reason, Dumbledore had taken it upon himself to 'fix' Severus's problems.

Sitting in his mother's kitchen, glaring out a window that hadn't been cleaned in seven years, Severus knew where the old man could stuff his concerns. Even so, he slowly unwrinkled the note and penned back a short reply. The headmaster could stop by as he pleased; Severus didn't have plans for the summer.

He eyed the copy of the Daily Prophet lying unopened on his kitchen table, able to see the man's twinkling gaze even with the paper still folded and tied. The headmaster had managed to secure a front-page spot, yet again, for his graduating class of Gryffindors.

Oh, there were a few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs thrown in for appearances, but Severus knew there would be no Slytherins in the picture. He surely hadn't been asked when he'd graduated, even though he'd received the second highest marks in his year. Only the wolf had surpassed him, with Lily a close third.

Severus sneered and nursed the cup of tea, forcing his mind away from the thoughts of school. The new year wouldn't start for several months. Severus had no compunction to even _think_ about the school until late August... with the exception of the ghost. Evan. The one so eerily like his former best friend. The boy had been an almost daily visitor as the school year had drawn to a close, but the child hadn't been seen since. Now, almost two weeks past the end of term, Severus hadn't seen a single messy hair since he'd left the cramped teacher's quarters. For a moment, he wondered the little ghost had been showing up at the school these past two weeks, alone and lost.

With a scowl, Severus picked up the newspaper and yanked off the string. He was not going to sit in his own kitchen, contemplating the fate of the ghost of a child. One that couldn't even speak. He flicked open the paper with a flick of his wrist – ignoring the smiling faces on the first page with a superior air – and settled in to read an opinion piece. The witch who'd written the letter was surprisingly knowledgeable on proposed changes to the laws surrounding the goblins.

He was most of the way through page four, having distracted himself from thoughts of his dismally performing students and the missing ghost, when a small, blue-tinted hand appeared through the paper, waving spread fingers as if to get his attention.

Severus lowered the paper, arching an eyebrow and fixing a glare on the boy. Evan's blue-green eyes gazed back happily. His mouth moved, obviously full of things to say, only to break off with a frown. He pressed his fingers to his lips.

Despite his earlier thoughts, Severus felt a little knot of worry vanish from between his shoulder blades. He rolled his shoulders slightly and folded the paper to set it on the table, picture-side down. With a scowl, he asked darkly, "Had to follow me home, did you?"

Evan's eyes widened, his gaze jumping to the kitchen Severus was sitting in. Turning in a complete circle, the boy seemed to take in everything.

Severus looked around the kitchen too, taking it in. Windows with a thick layer of filth. A kitchen that had been regularly hit with cleaning spells, but hadn't been properly scrubbed since his mother had fallen sick. Yellowed curtains and a grayed wooden floor and cupboards with a layer of grime nothing but a brush and elbow grease would remove.

Oddly, Severus found himself flushing at the disheveled state of his home. The sound of his mother's voice chiding his laziness curled through his mind, but when the child turned back to stare at him, there was nothing but wonderment in the boy's eyes.

Severus picked up his cup of tea, intent to finish reading his paper. The child looked torn between wanting to explore the place and wanting to stay in the kitchen. Severus started to read aloud. He watched the ghost start, then stare at him, then settle down on the ground next to his chair, clearly listening.

The next time Severus looked up from his paper, the boy was gone. Slowly closing the newspaper and setting it back on the table, Severus picked up his tea and sipped it.

.

...

.

**-11- Harry -11-**

_June 30, 1986_

.

It had been two months since Harry's relatives had furiously put an end to Dudley's karate classes. In Harry's mind, that had happened on the same day the balance of the house had shifted. He wasn't sure if the karate classes were the cause of the change, but he _was_ sure that things were different.

Harry hid in the park a few blocks from his relatives' house, crouched down behind of some bushes. Somewhere – Harry hoped somewhere far away – his uncle was rampaging up and down the street. While his uncle had always had a rather short temper, he'd always been able to keep it mostly in check. Swats were common, but didn't really hurt. Meals were missed, but a sandwich generally showed up sooner or later. But in the last two months the man had been just one comment away from blowing his top.

And it was always Harry that got the short end of the stick. Dudley had become some sort of angel, unable to do any wrong. Harry had turned into a scapegoat for anything and everything wrong in the universe.

Harry wasn't even sure what had set it off this time. He and Dudley had been playing in the backyard – really, Harry'd been in the tree watching Dudley play in the backyard – when Dudley had screamed and started crying. Aunt Petunia had come out from the kitchen blazing. Uncle Vernon hadn't been far behind. Dudley had been wrapped in his parents' arms, promised sweets and ice cream, and Harry had been promised no meals and a hurt bottom when he got out of that tree. Needless to say, the second Harry's feet had touched the ground, he'd been off and running.

That had been hours ago. Having missed lunch and with supper sneaking up on him, he was getting hungry and starting to contemplate his options. The odd cat lady a few streets over would probably give him a snack if he went and asked.

Plan formulated, Harry got to his feet and crept from the bushes, keeping his eyes alert for any sign of his red-faced uncle. He worked his way over to the sidewalk leading out of the park. Cutting through backyards and alleys shaved time off his trip and before too long, he was standing in front of the home of the cat lady. Harry wasn't quite sure that Ms. Figg knew he was a human, not a stray cat, but the woman had never turned him away. He glanced up and down the street once before hurrying up the sidewalk to her house and knocking on the door.

"Who'zit?"

"Harry!" Harry called through the door. "Can I come in?"

The door pried open slightly. "Harry?" A pair of sunglasses was visible through the door. "Oh! Harry! Do come in." The door was pushed open to reveal a woman with graying hair in a hairnet and a pair of sunglasses on her eyes. Inside the house, it was dark.

"Why are you wearing sunglasses inside?" Harry asked, squinting in the darkness. The blinds were drawn, making it seem later than it was. Large, warm balls of fur pushed at his legs, nearly knocking him over. The house stank of litter boxes and car hair.

The woman hesitated. "Crumple-horned snorkacks."

Harry blinked up at her, not sure if he'd even heard English words. "What's that?"

"You never mind," she said, flipping on a set of lights and taking off her sunglasses. She polished them nervously a moment before setting them on the counter and picking up the newspaper. She tossed it into a garbage. "Just something I read in a paper. Speaking of papers, how is your cousin doing? And speaking of relatives, do they know you're here?"

Harry winced at the mention of his relatives. "No…" he said slowly. "Can I get a snack before I go back?"

Ms. Figg eyed him speculatively. "Your aunt said I wasn't to be feeding you anymore."

Harry tried for his best smile. "Please?" One of her cats chose that moment to spring into Harry's arms. It purred loudly.

"Oh…" she dithered, but Harry knew she'd given in. "You're two parts alley cat, Harry Potter." She took the cat from his arms and dropped it on the couch with a scolding. "Stay on furniture, not on people," she said and brushed Harry into the kitchen. "It'll be our secret. But just this once, not again."

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it." She looked through her cupboards and took down a can of soup, dumping it into an unused cat bowl and heating it in the microwave before setting it in front of Harry with a spoon. "Besides, I want information."

Harry knew the gleam in her eye. There was one thing Ms. Figg and Aunt Petunia had in common, and it was a love of gossip. Nothing happened in Little Whinging without the two of them knowing and spreading it around like wildfire. There were times when Harry thought the only reason Ms. Figg was nice to him was because the woman wanted to hear about the Durlseys. He carefully took a bite of the soup, pleased that it was hot but not too hot to eat.

"Your cousin."

"Dudley?" Harry started to eat a bit faster. He didn't want to talk about his cousin right now. He still didn't understand what was wrong with his cousin.

"Yes, yes. Dudley Dursley. He went to those karate lessons with Mr. Sharp, didn't he?" The woman leaned closer.

Harry could see the hairs growing in her nose. He'd never seen a woman with hair in her nose before. He shrugged after a moment. "He used to go to karate lessons. Not anymore."

"The man was in the paper last month for doing things. Did he do things with Dudley?" Her eyes were wide and her face was hovering over the bowl of soup. Two of her cats jumped up on the table and eyed the soup as well, no doubt knowing it was in a cat dish.

Harry drew back slightly, pulling the soup with him and wasting time by eating a few large bites. He'd often thought that Ms. Figg was crazy and Harry now had proof. Eventually he had to ask. "I don't know. What things?"

The woman scowled and sat back in her chair. "Things," she said with a wave of her hand. "Things." She seemed to deflate, apparently having realized Harry was not going to be a source of information. "He's been run out of town, you know. Mr. Sharp." She popped her lips at the end of his name.

Harry shrugged, not caring. There was no way the Dursleys would ever let him take karate lessons, so it didn't matter to him either way.

"Vernon and Petunia haven't said a word. Not one. But they pulled the boy out so fast. And that other family sure made a stink when they found out what was going on. To think, a grown man…"

Not following, Harry quickly finished the last of his soup. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, Harry offered a small smile. "Thanks for the soup."

She blinked at him, owl-like. She was petting the cat that had cuddled up next to her. "You're welcome dear. But not again, hear me? And you stay away from men like Mr. Sharp."

Harry agreed with a nod, scooting out of his chair and rapidly excusing himself from the odd woman's house. Once outside, he stood still, not quite sure where to go. The sun was high in the sky – would be for hours, since it was summer – but eventually he would have to head back to the Durlsey's. With a sigh, Harry made sure there was no sign of the soup on his face and then started a slow, almost funeral-like walk towards number four, Privet Drive.

.

...

.

**-12- Severus -12-**

_June 30, 1986_

.

On that same day, miles and miles away, Severus Snape sat in his home on Spinner's End and eyed the dirty curtains in his mother's kitchen. It was unusual for him to pay much attention to things like curtains over a sink. Unimportant decorations on a harsh life. But since he'd gone on something of a cleaning spree over the past few weeks, the curtains were beginning to stand out.

He didn't stop to think about why he was properly cleaning his mother's house for the first time in years. It was somewhat of a waste, since the house sat vacant more often than not. Cleaning so the mice could enjoy it, Severus often mocked in his mind. Not a logical use of his time and energy. But something had gotten into him and he'd started to clean. It'd been small things at first. The kitchen floor. Then the cabinets. Then the hallway paint. Now, the house looked almost like his mother still lived here, still cleaned here.

Except the curtains.

Severus turned his attention back to the letters lying on the kitchen table. The first letter was written on thick, smooth parchment in an expensive green dye. Severus knew who it was from without even picking it up. The other was a letter from the exorcist. Severus scowled and grabbed it. A jerk of his finger broke the seal and he unrolled the letter and quickly scanned the contents.

"Wish to know…" Severus muttered as he read. "Unusual readings…"

Apparently the woman had made a trip to the school. In her research, she'd stumbled across some magical readings from the young ghost in his lab. The woman wanted to know if the child had 'moved on' and, if it hadn't, she would remove the spirit, free of charge. The letter was written carefully, the words obviously chosen and edited with precision.

Letting the letter roll back up, Severus tapped it against the table. The exorcist was hiding something from him. To go from such pompous dismissal to a carefully crafted letter in just a few months... Yes, she was definitely hiding something. The question was what. And whether or not Severus cared.

He grabbed his own pen and scrawled an answer on the flip side of the letter. In his favorite fashion, Severus told nothing but the absolute truth. No, the ghost was no longer at the school. Hadn't been for some time. Exorcism services were appreciated, but no longer necessary.

Severus smirked at the reply, rolled it up and sealed it with the woman's name on the front, and set it aside. Then he reached out and grabbed the letter from the Malfoys. Slitting it open and reading the contents, he unconsciously rubbed his fingers on the creamy parchment. It was an invitation to a summer gala. What he'd done to be invited to a Malfoy gala was beyond him, but he knew the former Death Eater would have his reasons. Severus stared at the letter for a long time, not knowing how to respond. Finally, with a fatal-feeling swipe of his pen, Severus checked the 'Accepts with Gratitude' box on the reply card. The card vanished almost instantly, no doubt swept off to the desk of the event planner.

He'd just set his quill aside when the Dark Mark on his arm twinged. Severus looked up to find the little ghost sitting on the floor of his kitchen, arms wrapped around his knees, staring blankly into the distance.

Severus slowly got to his feet and walked over the ghost. He crouched down, eyeing the boy. The child's clothes and hair were in a state. A large, dark bruise colored the side of his face and, from the way he was favoring a foot when he was sitting, Severus had no doubt the child had a limp. Faint tears traced down Evan's face.

Despite his resolve to treat the child like a ghost, Severus found his forehead furrowing. "What happened?"

Evan looked up at him, eyes wide. He didn't try to talk, he just shook his head and looked away.

Frustrated, Severus got to his feet and stalked around the kitchen, making himself some supper. With a sandwich on his plate, Severus settled down at the table to eat. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the child curl up into a tighter ball on the floor, clearly distressed over something.

"I've had enough of this," he said abruptly, setting down his sandwich when he found himself not as hungry as he'd expected. "Come along." Pushing away from the table, he swept from the kitchen. When the child made no move to follow, Severus scowled at him. "Now, child." After a few moments, Evan stumbled to his feet, blue and transparent and clearly limping.

Four doors down the hallway, past the two bedrooms and the bathroom, Severus pushed open the door to what used to be his father's tiny study. Now, with the windows boarded up and the room magically expanded, Severus had created a spacious potions lab. The child followed him, finding a quiet corner where he collapsed into a forlorn pile. Severus clenched his teeth.

A conversation at this point would be futile. This boy was in no state to listen to logic, too wrapped up in his emotions. Tapping his fingers against the large cauldron in the middle of the lab, Severus finally shook his head.

"We always need to start with a base," Severus said, eyeing the child as he moved around his lab, grabbing ingredients. The ghost needed to calm down and, for whatever the reason, Evan seemed to enjoy the sound of his voice. "This is a water-based potion, so we need a water base. Seawater."

Setting the cauldron on the fire, Severus waited for it to boil. The ghost was watching him, knees up to his chin, following every movement with careful eyes. His shoulders shook now and then. "Now," Severus said, "we'll need wormwood. Just a few drops." Grabbing the vial, Severus dripped the infusion into the boiling water. The water took on an oily sheen. "Perfect."

"And," he continued, picking up a mortar and pestle. "Root of asphodel, powdered finely." He ground the root carefully, fingering the contents of the stone bowl. "It should feel like flour between the fingers." Pouring in the powder and stirring, the potion became thicker, more like glue than water.

"Stir twice only, and then add in the brain of a sloth." As he set the brain in the potion, he noticed he finally had Evan's full attention. The boy seemed to have calmed down. "And we let boil…" Tapping his wand against the side of the cauldron, Severus left the potion and headed over to his bookshelf.

Most of the books on the shelves were ancient. Several were hundreds of years old, a few even more than that. But one of the books was new, and distinguished itself by being distinctly muggle. Severus pulled down the book and studied the glossy spine and fine type-set printing. The book could teach the child to communicate... but it was likely a hopeless cause. Ghosts weren't supposed to be able to learn. They knew exactly what they knew when they died, and that was it. Hundreds of books and scrolls upheld that thought.

But after months of watching the boy, Severus wasn't sure that was true. He flipped through the pages, running a finger along the slick, muggle paper. Walking past the steaming cauldron, he settled next to the young ghost. "I am," he said blandly, "entirely sick of you not answering my questions."

The ghost flinched, but tried offering a smile. With the thick-looking bruise on the side of his face, the smile didn't quite work the way the boy probably intended.

"If you are to continue coming here, we shall require a method of communication." Severus tapped the book with his fingers.

Evan looked confused – although whether it was over the wording or the book, Severus wasn't sure. The boy eventually shrugged under Severus's gaze.

"Can you read?"

At the question, the boy shook his head.

Severus was a bit annoyed by that – the boy appeared to be five years old and surely children knew some basics of literacy by that age – but he tamped down on the emotion and eyed the ghost. "I shall read it for you. However," Severus held up a finger, "you will be expected to learn to read."

Evan raised his eyebrows and nodded.

Opening the book and holding it so the ghost could see the pages, Severus points towards the text. "This is a book on sign language. It will teach you to speak with your hands."

Gaze jumping from the page to Severus's face and back, Evan looked confused.

"Watch." Severus paged through the book until he found the one he was looking for. "I charmed the book so the images will move." Over-bending the book so it would lay somewhat flat, Severus pointed towards the picture of a man on the page. The drawing held his fingers in front of his eyes, then traced them down his face.

The child watched, then looked up at Severus, clearly not understanding.

Severus, with a scowl, made the motion demonstrated in the book. He traced his hands down his face slowly. "This means 'I'm sad." He peered at the ghost, waiting, then prompted, "You do it."

With trembling fingers, the child made the same motion, pulling his fingers over his face, visibly wincing when a hand touched the large bruise on his face. Then, seeming to suddenly catch on, Evan nodded and a tremulous smile grew on his face.

.

...

.

_To be continued..._


	4. Act 1 Chapter 4

_Thanks Ceti H. Black, Johanni93, Rebecca, kyra235, risi, delenda est c, DarkRavie, Mel7200, SapphireSecret, Moi, and Catcrazzed for your reviews. _

_Extra special glomp-thanks (if there is such a thing) to mystery muffin and MsFrizzle for their long, awesome reviews! You two rock!  
_

* * *

**Harry Potter and the**

**Stone of Dreams**

* * *

**– Act 1: Foundations –**

* * *

.

**-13- Severus -13-**

_August 15, 1986  
_

_._

Albus Dumbledore smiled as he settled into the chair at the Leaky Cauldron. A long, vividly purple trench coat was folded and placed on the table beside him. "Severus, my boy," he greeted.

"Headmaster," Severus said, his back stiff and firm.

"I'll have the special," the old man told the waiter before turning his twinkling blue eyes on Severus. "How has your summer treated you thus far?"

Severus felt his lips twitch into a frown. He wasn't here for small talk. "Too short. I have many things accomplish today, Headmaster..."

The man waved a dismissive hand. The rings on his fingers glittered in the brilliant sunlight streaming through the windows. "You are always too busy, my boy. Relax. And I told you last time we met - over the summer, you _are_ allowed to call me Albus."

Picking up his cup of tea, Severus took a sip, then slowly set the cup back down on the table. His voice under control, he said, "Be that as it may-"

"And it is," the man interrupted pleasantly.

"_Be that as it may__," _Severus repeated darkly, "I have an appointment in a half-hour with an allopathist to order supplies for our medical potions this year. You will need to withhold the chatter and get to the point."

A plate was slid onto the table and the headmaster handed over a few sickles. "Thank you," he told the waiter before turning to back to Severus. Dunking his bread into the thick stew, the man said, "As you wish, Severus."

It felt like wool was being pressed against Severus's ears. He worked his jaw to clear the unpleasant feeling. "Silencing charms?" he asked with an arched eyebrow.

"There are rumors starting to spread," the headmaster said softly, stirring his stew and taking a bite. "Of darkness and shadows and unspeakable things."

Severus crossed his arms. "There are always rumors - dark or otherwise. But I fail to see what that has to do with me."

The man nodded slowly. "These ones are slightly different, Severus. Ones you might find to be of interest."

A chill ran down his spine. "The Dark Lord." There wasn't any confirmation, but Severus didn't need one. He reached for his tea, unable to stop the small shake to his hands as he sipped at the warm liquid. "What have you heard?"

"There are whispers of a man in Yugoslavia attempting to create a golem for the Devil himself." The man's voice was quiet. "And tales of magical snakes in southern Albania I find particularly disturbing."

"Snakes," Severus murmured.

The headmaster set down his spoon. "There are rumors coming out of northern Greece that Mormo has returned. A dark, evil thing that roams the forests and preys on the souls of children. The local centaurs have attempted to track down the spirit, but haven't had any luck."

Severus turned his gaze from his tea to the spot on his arm where the Dark Mark lay hidden. He was getting used to the small twinges he'd always assumed had been caused by the ghost child haunting his dungeon. But with this information... Something dark curled and pulled at his intestines.

"Severus?"

Jerking his eyes up to meet the headmaster, Severus cleared his face of any expression. "Yes?"

"Have you heard anything of this nature from your... companions?"

Severus felt his whirling thoughts come to a stop. He eyed the old man, contemplating the possible meaning behind the question. "No." The answer came out stiff and abrupt. "And I would not consider them my _companions_."

The man hummed and stirred his stew with a chunk of bread.

When the headmaster didn't expand upon his comments, Severus crossed his arms, fixed a dark look on his face, and waited. He was not a child, requiring constant chatter. Silence was a well-known ally in Severus's world.

The headmaster chewed on his bread, then broke the silence. "We had an exorcist at the school over the summer," he said blandly. "With as old a castle as we have, we tend to collect spirits that need to be purged every now and again."

"Peeves has been taken care of?" Severus asked, his tone still short.

"Unfortunately not," the man smiled slightly. "Peeves has a tenacity that should be admired. And Moaning Myrtle was unable to be located yet again." Blue eyes fixed on Severus. "However, the woman told me an interesting story about a ghost in your dungeon you hadn't mentioned."

Severus frowned. "Did she?"

"A young ghost," he said, "and one that had been... _mangled_, I believe was the word she used."

After a few surprised blinks, Severus had to ask, "What does that mean?"

"Not a complete soul," the headmaster said with a frown. "It had been damaged. And she said that the spirit contained a lot of dark magic."

"It was just a young boy," Severus murmured, picking up his tea.

Albus Dumbledore slowly pushed his lunch away and set his arms down on the worn tabletop, lacing his fingers together. His voice turned contemplative. "I trust you, Severus, otherwise I would not have allowed you in my school."

Severus waited, unconsciously matching the older man's posture. "And...?"

"My fears that Voldemort had been torn from his body and become little more than a soul seem to be correct." The man's voice was barely audible. "Any search for him would turn up something resembling a ghost that was broken and filled with dark magic. The correlation..."

Fingers white-knuckled into fists, Severus waited for the man to continue. When nothing came, Severus said, "You are suggesting the ghost in my dungeons was _the Dark Lord?"_

The headmaster frowned, but didn't deny the allegation.

Severus leaned forwards, unwrapping his fists long enough to poke a stiff finger into the table in front of the headmaster. "That man killed my best friend," he hissed.

"Severus-"

"The ghost haunting my dungeons was a young brat, no doubt killed by the Dark Lord or one of his followers. To think that I would shelter-"

"Severus." The man reached out and tapped Severus's arm, cutting off the angry diatribe. "I didn't think that." His eyes weren't twinkling. "However, you see the possible connection. And with your history..."

Severus folded his arms over his chest and settled his fiercest scowl on his face. "The only thing that ghost is a danger to, is himself," Severus muttered. "And if you are finished insulting my honor and riddling my mind with rumors from hundreds of miles away, I have an appointment I must keep."

"Severus."

The man's tone stopped Severus's movements. He eyed the man.

"The darkness is starting to rise. You understand what that means for all of us."

Severus felt his teeth clench together, but he nodded shortly. "What of it?" Albus Dumbledore fixed his blue eyes onto Severus's. When Severus saw the heavy weight in them, his stomach dropped to his toes. He found himself barely able to listen to the man's gentle voice.

"I need to know what's going on out in the world. You have connections I do not and can learn things I can not. You have ears for the information I need to help keep Lily's child safe."

Severus stared out the window. The clouds were thin against the blue sky.

"You promised her, my boy. This is the only way."

A bird flew past. It was white - perhaps a dove.

"Please keep your ears open and let me know what you find," the headmaster asked softly, waving his hand. The muffled, wool-bound feeling vanished along with the silencing spell. "The balance can't be allowed to shift too fast."

Feeling a bit numb, Severus nodded. "Good day, Headmaster." He pushed away from the table and rose.

"Good day, Severus."

Not looking back, Severus stalked out the back of the Leaky Cauldron, then through the passage into Diagon Alley. The headmaster's unsaid reasonings behind hiring a former Death Eater to work in his school were now very clear. Anger rose in his chest as the knowledge of what the meddling old man was asking him to do solidified in his mind.

A spy. Ingratiating himself with the darker elements of his life yet again. Curling a hand into a fist, Severus slammed it into a wall.

He stopped a moment to rub his bruised knuckles and glare at the passers-by. It seemed as though he would never be able to get away from the mistakes of his past.

.

...

.

**-14-Harry -14-**

_August 27, 1986_

.

"Duddy is starting his first year of school next week," Aunt Petunia busily told the woman at the biggest clothing store in the shopping center. "He'll need a new wardrobe."

Harry was fascinated by the sales clerk. She chewed on a piece of gum and leaned against the counter. Her short blue hair stuck towards the ceiling, looking unimpressed with Petunia's proclamation. Her eyes looked almost like cat eyes, glittering gold and amber. "And him?" She gestured towards Harry with a jerk of her head.

Harry sent her a shy smile. He didn't normally get to go with his relatives when they went shopping. But the cat lady was out of town for a week and Uncle Vernon refused to let Harry stay home by himself, so he'd been tossed into the car with a few warnings to behave. Catching sight of a mannequin staring in his direction, he shuddered, edging closer to his uncle's bulk.

Aunt Petunia stepped in front of him, momentarily blocking his view of the plastic woman. "We're here for my Duddy-kins."

Peeking out from behind his aunt, Harry watched the sales lady shrug carelessly. "Boys clothing is to the left." Her eyes flickered up and down Dudley's form. "Husky section along the wall. You gonna need help or you wanna browse?"

With a huff and a raised chin, Aunt Petunia said, "You'll lead the way, of course."

The gum popped loudly. "Uh-huh. You know this ain't no high class store, right? We don't tailor." Not waiting for a response, the woman pushed away from the counter and slouched further into the store.

"Uncouth woman," Aunt Petunia muttered under her breath, brushing Dudley in the correct direction. "Coming, Vernon?"

The man glared in Harry's direction. "Don't get lost, boy," the man grumbled before following the women. "We'll not look for you."

Harry nodded, even though his uncle wasn't looking at him anymore. He scrambled after them, ducking past racks piled high with clothing, but stopped when he reached the entrance to the mall. Glancing towards his relatives - who were only a few meters away, staring to paw through the clothing - Harry gazed wonderingly out the door into the crowded walkway. According to Aunt Petunia, this was one of the better shopping centers in London, and dozens of brightly-colored storefronts vied for attention.

Never having been in a mall before and stunned by the throngs of people surging back and forth, Harry watched the goings-on in almost a trance. Men and women of every shape and size walked past. One man, with dark skin and long, dark hair done up in braids, eyed him back for a moment before smiling. A thick-set lady sauntered into the clothing store holding one end of a leash. The other end of the leash was attached to a wide-eyed young boy that raced back and forth, grinning and giggling and waving at anyone who would meet his gaze. A teenage girl in a frilly pink dress cooed and begged, hanging on her father's arm as they walked past.

And then a thin, stork-like man stepped from the crowd. He had on a long leather coat, his dark hair pulled back with a tie behind his neck. Coal black eyes swept past where Harry was standing, mostly hidden behind a rack of red jackets.

"Severus," Harry whispered, startled. He crept a few steps forwards, trying to keep the man in view. His fingers came to rest on the metal trim of the door leading into the store.

There could be no way his dreams were coming true, was there? There was the time when the man had seen him in the tree.. but had faded into a memory Harry wasn't sure was real. This, though - this _had_ to be real.

He hesitated, bouncing on his toes, his fingers wrapped around the store's door frame. "But-"

The dream man stopped at a food stand, purchasing a small paper tray of food.

Harry glanced over his shoulder. His aunt was clearly visible, still pushing shirt after shirt in Dudley's direction. Her sharp voice, "...he'll need at least five, Vernon..." carried over the soft music playing in the background.

Figuring his relatives would stay at the shirts a few minutes more, Harry dashed out into the hustle and bustle of the crowded mall. Eyes fixed on the soft leather of the dream man's jacket, Harry ducked past elbows and paunch bellies. He needed to know if the man was real. He needed to touch the man's sleeve, or tug on the end of his jacket, or grab his hand.

Harry had never had much in his life. After the disaster with the karate class, Harry had even less. He clung to his dreams like a child drowning would cling to his mother.

For them to maybe be coming true... An unconscious grin grew on his face.

When Harry reached the food stall, there was no sign of the man from his dreams. A woman with a leather jacket and her black hair tied back in a bushy ponytail stood nearby, enjoying a tray of friend snacks and talking to a friend. Harry stared at her. He turned in a small circle, eying the crowds of men and women.

"Severus?" he whispered, feeling disappointment grab onto his heart so powerfully tears appeared in his eyes.

"Hey, kid, you orderin' somethin'?" the man behind the counter asked. The greasy smell of frying potatoes filled his nose.

Harry shook his head. "I was looking for someone," he said.

The man wrinkled his thick nose and scowled. "You lost?"

"No," Harry said quickly, backing away from the man. Stuffing his hands into his pockets and glaring at the ground, he headed back towards the clothing store. Avoiding a group of teenagers dressed in blacks and purples, Harry shook his head, furious with himself. He should know the difference between dreams and reality - there was no way a man with a magic stick, who taught at a magic school, would really exist and would be at the mall in London. His mind was playing tricks on him, just like Uncle Vernon always said when they saw a street magician. It wasn't real.

It couldn't be real. And Harry was six. Uncle Vernon was right: it was time to stop chasing dreams and face reality.

His feet stopped. His eyes trailed from storefront to storefront. There were a bunch of them that sold clothing, Harry noticed, and he wasn't sure which his relatives had decided upon.

"Don't get lost," Harry whispered, repeating his uncle's direction from earlier. One of his uncle's favorite swear words found its way out of Harry's mouth. Resisting the urge to find a corner to curl up in, Harry pushed through the crowd towards the first clothing store. He peered around inside for his relatives and, not finding them, went to the next.

And the next.

And the next.

By this point, worry was making his breathing quicken. What if he couldn't find them - would he have to spend the night in the shopping center? He stepped into the next store - lady's handbags and men's belts, this wasn't the store either - and sniffled. "Aunt Petunia?" His voice was quiet. "Uncle Vernon? Dudley?"

"Hey," came a soft voice.

Harry turned around to find a lady with curly brown hair and warm brown eyes crouched down beside him. He blinked at her, taking an uncertain step backwards. Dudley wasn't supposed to talk to strangers, and Harry was almost certain that applied to himself as well.

"Can I help you find someone?" the lady asked. She smiled at him.

Harry looked around, then back at her.

"See my badge?" the woman said, pointing to a bit of metal on her gray shirt. "It means I'm a security guard. I'm supposed to help kids find people. It's okay to talk to me."

Harry eyed the badge, then the woman's smiling face. "I don't know which store they're in," Harry confessed after a moment, torn between embarrassment at having to admit it and relief at finding someone who would know where to find his relatives.

She nodded, standing up and holding out a hand. "Well, they can't be far. Let's find them, shall we?"

Slowly, Harry reached out and wrapped his fingers around her warm hand. "Okay."

She squeezed his fingers tightly a second before letting go. "Come on, then. I know a great place to wait for them. The last kid that ended up there got a free ice cream."

Harry didn't usually get ice cream, but he didn't tell the woman that. They walked past the man at the fried-potato stand. The lady and the man exchanged a glance and a nod. A minute later, the lady came to a stop. A small section of the hallway was sectioned off the short walls.

A thick-set man sat behind the short wall, wearing a gray shirt with a little metal badge. "Another one?" the man grumbled. "They need leashes, they do."

"He's just a kid," the lady shot back as she opened a door and escorted Harry inside. "Budge over and give the kid some of the bench."

The man scooted over a bit and Harry was directed onto the thin cushion. From his new perch, he could see far down the hallway. People parted around the little stand like water flowing around a large rock in a river.

"Got a name?" the man asked, reaching into a small cooler by his side and pulling out a small square.

"Harry," Harry offered.

"And a surname?"

"Potter. Harry Potter."

The man nodded, marking something down on a clipboard, then unwrapping the square. It was an ice cream treat - chocolate sandwich cookies on the sides, ice cream in the middle. He handed it to Harry.

"Thanks," Harry said, slowly taking the treat and staring at it. His tongue snuck out of his mouth and licked at the ice cream. It was cold and made his teeth tingle. The cookies were soft and thick when he bit into them.

"Who are you here with?"

Harry took another bite of his ice cream treat, staring down at his toes. His shoes swung in mid-air, his legs not quite long enough to reach the ground.

For a moment - just one heart-wrenching moment - Harry wanted to tell the man to look for Severus Snape. He had seen Severus in the mall, surely he was still here. Severus would come and see him and take him to the magic castle and give him a magic stick and show him how to make shrinking solutions and boil cures and tinctures of asphodel.

But then the moment passed.

Severus Snape was a dream. There was no such thing as magic. And there was no way his dreams had come to life. He couldn't have seen the man - people from dreams don't exist. It must have been a look-like, or a mind trick, or just Harry's imagination gone wild.

Disappointed, Harry muttered his relative's names.

"Say again, kid?"

"Petunia and Vernon Dursley. My aunt and uncle," Harry repeated, a bit louder.

"Ah. Not here with your parents?"

Harry bit into his ice cream. "My parents died in a car crash."

He saw the man wince out of the corner of his eye. "Well, we'll find 'em. And I'm sure they'll be happy to see you."

Harry nodded dismally. He could already hear his uncle's voice, furiously explaining how it would have served him right to spend the night in the mall. His aunt chiming in with a mutter about how dare he have their names called over the loudspeaker like some common trash. His cousin grinning in the background. And Harry, his ear hurt from being tugged to the car and his bottom stinging from a through spanking, left in his cupboard for the remainder of the summer.

Finishing off the last of his ice cream treat, Harry sighed and stared out into the throngs of passers-by. He distantly heard his relative's names being announced. Felt the bench move and shake as the security guard shifted his bulk around.

It was here, sitting on the little bench and waiting for his relatives, that Harry let go of the dreams. It was the last time he allowed himself to think about the magic castle and Severus Snape. He knew it was time for him to live his life and stop waiting for strange dreams to save him from the real world.

After all, there was no such thing as dreams coming true.

.

...

.

**-15- Severus -15-**

_December 19, 1986_

.

Severus stood near the shadows, his arms crossed over the expensive dress robes he'd been given. They were extremely soft - woven from the fur of a baby manticore - and the darkest of blacks. It took a great deal of self discipline to stop himself from fingering the sleeve yet again. The robes no doubt cost more than he'd earned in his entire life.

A gift from the Malfoys. One that Severus knew better than to not accept.

A witch in fancy red robes sauntered in his direction and Severus set a glare on his face. The woman hesitated, her smile faded, and then she found someone else to bother.

It was the second gala Severus had found himself attending at the Malfoy's mansion. The first had been a summer fling put on by Lucius's wife, Narcissa. The woman had practically draped herself over Severus's arm when he'd arrived and had proclaimed his dress robes to be substandard. She had then dragged her young son before him and started in on his prowess in potions, and how pleased she was that the spoiled brat would have a proper professor when he reached school age.

This was some sort of holiday party. The front hall of the estate was draped in greens and silvers, with speckles of red here and there, and the ballroom was festooned in trees and silvery baubles. After making the necessary rounds, Severus had located a glass of something strong to drink and a dark corner to wait until he could possibly excuse himself.

The clock in his head slowly counted down the minutes until he could leave. Severus thought time hadn't moved so slowly since his last class with the first-year Gryffindors.

A swirl of emerald green robes appeared out of the crowd of dancers and Severus straightened, lowering his arms and biting back a sigh. Lucius had a smile on his face, arms spread in a welcoming gesture, his pale hair slicked back without a single stray. "Severus, my friend. I'm so glad you could make it!"

"Lucius," Severus greeted softly. "Thank you for the invitation. This is certainly the gala of the year."

"All my dear wife's doing, I assure you. A bit too much red for my taste."

Severus forced a small smile to his face. "At least there's no gold."

Lucius chuckled softly. "Yes, well." The man shifted his weight, the ice in his glass clinked against the sides. A pale eyebrow arched. "You've heard the rumors?"

"I hear many rumors," Severus answered, unsure of what the man was getting at. He eyed the shifting crowd of dancers before turning his attention back to the eldest Malfoy.

"I'm talking about our dear Professor Kettleburn," Lucius said, taking a sip of his drink. "The current head of our noble House."

Severus's lip thinned. He had no special dislike for the even-tempered Silvanus and even grudgingly awarded the thick-headed professor some points for putting up with students at all hours. It was not something he ever dreamed of himself doing - just the thought of dealing with an entire house full of brats would put him into an early grave. "What of him?"

"He'll be retiring. Slytherin will need a new Head of House."

Severus cursed loudly in his mind, guessing at the direction this conversation was about to head. He forced himself to take a sip of his drink. "I suppose it will. However, Silvanus is many years from retirement-"

Lucius sent him a look. "Perhaps. But we really need one of our own kind in a position like Head of House, don't you think? The man was a _Hufflepuff_, Severus." Lucius sounded wounded by the thought.

"I'm sure-" Severus started, looking for a way to stall the man's thoughts.

"Someone we can _trust_," Lucius interrupted, eying him pointedly.

Severus hesitated, then let out a mental sigh. "Of course," he murmured.

"Things are starting to come together all over England," Lucius continued, waving his arm at the gala. "It's extremely important to have the right people in the right positions. You see the man over there in blue?" Severus nodded. "Cornelius Fudge, undersecretary for Minister Bagnold. Ugly man, weak mind, but power hungry. If we can get him in the right place, with the right people behind him..." Lucius trailed off and smirked. "I invited him here to watch how he handled himself." Lucius took an elegant sip of his drink. "Thus far, I'm satisfied."

Severus gazed down into his own glass. Brown liquid flowed over ice cubes in little rivulets. "You sound like you have many plans in place, Lucius."

"Of course."

Severus eyed Lucius out of the corner of his eye. Agreeing to come to this party had been the easiest way to keep a very powerful man from breathing down his neck. But the headmaster had made it clear that Severus wasn't to just keep the man happy. Severus would need to jump into the ocean and swim with the sharks to get the information Albus Dumbledore was seeking. "I wonder just how many plans," Severus said carefully, planning out his words.

Lucius's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Severus deliberately gazed straight into Lucius's blue eyes. "I hear there are snakes in Albania."

There was a tense silence between the two. Soft music playing in the background kept the dancers twirling and laughing. Then a smile appeared on Lucius's face. "You always had your ears in the right place," Lucius murmured.

With a slow nod, Severus turned back to watch the dancers.

"That's why you were recruited, you know. Your ears, and your potions, and your anger."

Severus pressed his lips together.

"They'll come in handy again soon," Lucius continued.

Severus felt the last few strands of hope for a quiet, peaceful future shatter. With those few, carefully planned statements, he'd woven himself deeper into Lucius's plans and, ultimately, into the Dark Lord's return. His path as an old man's spy was set firmly in stone.

"You've cultivated the headmaster's trust, I assume?"

"Of course," Severus murmured.

"Keep that up," Lucius said, taking a step back towards the crowd. "And I'll make you Head of House."

Severus nodded and watched Lucius vanish into the swirling mass of color. He downed the last of his drink, coughed a bit at the harsh taste, and set the cup down on a nearby statue. With a barely contained scowl, Severus stalked out of the ballroom and made his way down the hallway.

"Can I get you your cloak?" one of the servants called after him when Severus made his way out the front door and onto the walk. Cold, December stars glittered overhead.

"Keep it," Severus snarled back, twisted on his heel, and apparated. The world twisted, turned, swirled, and then solidified. He glanced around - feeling a dim sense of relief when he saw no muggles in the area. He didn't need a brown-nosing Ministry official showing up to ruin what was left of his evening free from the school.

The little gate squeaked when Severus pushed it open, walking along a moonlit path into a park. The grass was dead and brittle in the cold and Severus's breath fogged briefly in the air before him as he strode down the well-worn paths. He stopped a good way in, staring down at a thick gravestone. He stood silent and still as the dormant trees.

"The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death," Severus finally murmured, reading the line off the stone. He slowly sank to crouch on his heels, running a hand over his eyes and through his hair. A heavy sigh wrenched itself from his throat. His finger traced over one of the names. "And it's of all my own doing."

Severus flinched at the sharp twinge in his arm. Then the child was standing next to him, peering around at the graveyard.

"Ghoulish ghosts in the graveyard," Severus said, drawing the boy's attention.

Evan fumbled through a few bits of broken sign language. "You feel?"

Severus nodded a reply, getting to his feet. "Tired," he answered, not willing to tell the child the complete truth. He nodded towards the gravestone. "That was my best friend," he said, his voice sounding old. "I suppose it suits me, that everyone I even remotely enjoy having around is dead."

The boy shook his head and pointed towards Severus. "Like."

"Yes, yes," Severus muttered. "I realize you like me, for whatever silly reason."

At that, the boy wrinkled his nose and shook his head. "No. Like," he repeated emphatically, then reached up to run ghostly fingers along Severus's new dress robes.

Despite a dark future that was looming ever more over his head, Severus found a tiny smirk curling at the corners of his mouth. "Brat."

Evan grinned.

"I'm going home and going to bed," Severus informed him. "You can..." Severus trailed off, realizing the child was gone. He looked around at the graveyard, at the moon shining on the headstones, at the stars twinkling through the trees, and for the first time shivered in the cold winter air. Perhaps leaving his cloak with the Malfoy's had been a mistake, but it would have to be a Deathly Hollow for Severus to go back for it.

Twisting on his heel, Severus vanished in a loud crack of air.

.

...

.

**-16- Harry -16-**

_March 2, 1987_

.

For the last week, Harry had been dreading the parent-teacher conference Ms. Fletcher had set up. Aunt Pentunia and Uncle Vernon had been livid, not listening when Harry mentioned that the teacher had set up conferences with _all_ the students, not just him. The day of the conference had dragged on and on. When his relatives showed up at the end of the day, dressed in their finest, Harry had felt almost nauseous. Dudley had been sent out to play with his friends. Harry had to sit inside and listen to the conference.

"Is he reading at home?" Ms. Fletcher asked. She was a warm and happy woman, with smiles for everyone, but Harry thought she was a little dense. She couldn't understand why Harry didn't read with his relatives, and Harry had grown sick of trying to explain. Orphans don't read with their parents at home for a very obvious reason. And living in a dark cupboard with no light switch certainly didn't help.

"Harry does all his homework," Aunt Pentunia said stiffly, "I assure you if there is any slacking, he will be taken to task."

"No, no," the teacher said, waving a hand. "That's not what I meant. It's just that he's not improving at the speed the other students are. He's struggling with reading and writing."

Harry flinched when Uncle Vernon sent him a dark look.

"You might want to consider having him tested. Perhaps he needs some extra help... a little slower to understand..." The teacher's words drifted out of Harry's mind at the look on Aunt Petunia's face. It was a look of sudden comprehension. A strange look of pleasure. Harry's stomach dropped a bit.

"Harry's always been a little slow," his aunt was quick to reply, seeming to warm to the idea. "It takes him much longer than my Duddy-kins to pick up on things around the house."

Ms. Fletcher opened up Dudley's folder - covered in drawings of people being chopped to bits by swords - and pulled out a piece of paper. "Dudley's grades are much closer to average. A bit low, you can see, but that's not uncommon for boys to be a little low. He does seem to enjoy school too, which is helpful."

"Dudley isn't a problem?" Uncle Vernon asked, his voice loud in Harry's ears after the women's softer tones.

"Of course not. He's a pleasure to have in class," the teacher said with a happy smile.

"And Harry?"

Harry glanced pleadingly at the teacher, willing her to stay quiet. None of the problems were his fault! Dudley always caused the problems, Harry was simply the one who got in trouble for them.

"Harry seems... unmotivated," the teacher said slowly. "And that can lead to him being distracted and looking for ways to get out energy that are not always appropriate."

"You call me," Uncle Vernon said, "if the boy causes any more trouble in class. He'll be taken to task at home."

"Of course," Ms. Fletcher murmured. "Would you like to see the boys' grades?"

As Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon leaned over the grade reports - proclaiming Dudley's successes and Harry's failures - Harry sighed and picked at his fingers. He could see his folder, sitting under the teacher's elbow. He'd gotten carried away one day, drawing randomly. It was a woman with long, dark hair, a hawk-like nose, and a long, black dress. She was making a big pot of stew. Harry was helping.

He liked the picture. The teacher had pointed out all the little details and had been full of compliments. Harry wasn't sure where the picture came from, or who the woman was. Perhaps it was something out of a dream.

"Not acceptable!" came Uncle Vernon's booming voice. Harry flinched out of his reverie. "You'll do better, you hear me, boy?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, Uncle Vernon."

"And when can we see about testing?" Aunt Petunia put in.

"Not this year," Ms. Fletcher answered, "He's too young. But if his progress doesn't improve, next year you could start the process of having him tested."

Harry bit his lip. He didn't like the sound of 'being tested'.

"Children with his background," the teacher continued, "have lots of problems. With the proper help and guidance, he'll overcome them."

When everyone got to their feet, Harry followed, slinking towards the door to grab his coat.

"Have a good night, Harry," his teacher called. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Good night," he answered, his voice soft.

"Come along," Aunt Petunia said, ushering him quickly out the door, muttering under her breath. "Disgrace, you are. Look at these grades. Unacceptable. But with parents like yours? What did I really expect." Harry's shoes squeaked in the hallway. "Look at Dudley's scores - so much better than yours, of course. It does make sense, you know. To have you tested next year. _Those_ kind of people can't be as intelligent as our kind, now can they?"

Harry let his aunt ramble, not understanding much of it, climbed into the car, and scooted over as far as he could when Dudley got in. They stopped on the way home for an ice cream for Dudley - for his excellent grades - and when they got home, Harry was tossed into his cupboard.

His relatives ordered take away pizza to celebrate.

Harry curled up in a corner and slept, not bothering to eat the tuna fish sandwich his aunt set near the door. The world tipped out from underneath him, rolled over, and settled down on top of him.

Evan sat in the corner of Severus's office, watching the dark man grade papers. He felt frustrated, but he couldn't really remember why. Something had happened in his other life. With a silent sigh, he got to his feet and walked over to the desk, glancing down at the stacks of scrolls. The words on the page drifted through his eyes and out his nose.

"And what is wrong with the world today?" Severus murmured.

Evan shrugged. "Forget," he signed.

Black eyes shot him a tired glance. "Some day you'll learn more than that word, won't you?"

Evan shrugged again.

"And there's that horrendous shoulder movement. If I had the ability to, I would stick those shoulders to the floor to stop you from ever doing that again," Severus said darkly, setting down his quill.

Wrapped his arms around his chest, Evan looked down at his toes. "Sorry," he signed.

"Of course," the man muttered. "You always are." His fingers tapped on the pile of parchments. "I really do have to get a few more of these done tonight."

Nodding, Evan didn't mind waiting. He enjoyed being in Severus's office.

After a moment, Severus let out an impatient noise. "Get over here, child."

Evan eyed him uncertainly, but stepped closer and closer until he was right next to the man.

"Now," Severus said, "you will follow along." The tip of his quill hovered over the words scrawled on the page. Then he started to read, the quill moving slowly put steadily over the page. When he reached certain words, the shorter ones, he stopped and said the word and made the motion with his hands, not continuing until Evan repeated the motion.

Near the end of the third parchment, Severus's quill hesitated over the word 'down'. Evan, by now bored and wanting Severus to hurry up and head upstairs to supper, didn't wait for the man to make the motion first. He pointed his finger and moved his hand.

Severus huffed and let the parchment roll up without even finishing the sentence. "I suppose we can head up to supper," he said. "It's getting late."

Evan blinked up at him and grinned, bouncing on his toes and heading towards the door. Whatever the problem had been in his other life, Evan had completely and totally forgotten about it.

.

...

.

_To be continued..._


	5. Act 1 Chapter 5

_I am working 70-hour weeks, 6 days a week for the rest of the month. Patience if an update gets delayed by a day._

_Thanks to KisunaFuji, WhiteFang001, yulop, notsofrilly, Saint Snape, BiblioMatsuri, schnookums, Above the Winter Moonlight, kyra235, Guest, risi, get some class, DarkRavie, dianaanne, and Jasper's Mom for their reviews!  
_

_Special thanks to Johanni93 and MsFrizzle! Wow - your long reviews really, truly made my week._

* * *

**Harry Potter and the**

**Stone of Dreams**

* * *

**– Act 1: Foundations –**

* * *

.

**-17- Severus -17-**

_October 31, 1987_

.

Severus Snape scowled as he stalked away from the Halloween feast and headed towards his quarters for some well-earned peace. And a lot of quiet.

"Severus, hold up a moment."

He stopped and turned, eying the woman in the green hat and the herd of students in her wake. Unwilling to have a conversation while being trampled, Severus stepped into a doorway to wait.

Various-aged Slytherins streamed past him towards their dormitory, most of them high on sugar from the feast the headmaster had thrown. Professor Kettleburn was shepherding the slowest with prods from his walking stick. "Move," he said gruffly to a girl, shooing her with his six remaining fingers.

Professor McGonagall stepped into the doorway as well, straightening her hat. "Silvanus was explaining to me he was stepping down as Head of Slytherin at the end of the year-"

Not wanting to have this conversation, Severus set a scowl on his face. "I have things to get done, Minerva."

She waved her hand in dismissal. "It can wait." She eyed him sharply. "Rumor says you're stepping up to be the replacement."

Severus ground his teeth together and fought to keep from snapping at her. Severus wasn't entirely pleased with Lucius's generous 'gift' of forcing Kettleburn to step down and maneuvering the headmaster into giving Severus the job. Teaching itself was stressful and demanding, much less being the potions master on top of it. To add on a Head of House? But only idiots denied the former Death Eater's generosity – whether they wanted the gift or not – and Severus had a dozen reasons to stay on the Malfoy's good side. "Rumor would be correct," he finally muttered.

"Are you sure you can handle the responsibility? This is only your third year teaching..." she trailed off. "I mean no offense, Severus, but you always seem so stressed as it is. A Head of House-"

"I am well aware," Severus interrupted coldly, "of the requirements. If you have concerns about my ability to fulfill the position, please bring them to the headmaster, not to me."

Minerva shook her head "I'm just worried about you. I remember you when you were a student, and I don't want you to get in over your head."

Severus's arms crept across his chest. His chin crept up a few degrees. At twenty-eight years old, Severus was quite aware of what he could and could not do. "I appreciate the concern," he ground out. "Now, I have many things to get done before tomorrow."

Minerva's shoulders dropped slightly. "Yes, Severus. Just do be careful." Despite the final note in her voice, she lingered in the doorway, her fingers picking at the design woven into her robe. "The Malfoys…" she started, but shopped with a shake of her head. "Just know I'm here to talk if you ever need to."

Inclining his head, Severus turned and stepped back out into the corridor, pleased to find that the worst of the Slytherin crowd had vanished from view. He stalked down the hallway, his robes fluttering behind him, lost in the thoughts Minerva had starting tumbling through his mind.

There was a feeling of momentum around was Lucius was doing. It was the start of something, like Severus was being pushed up the stairs of a playground slide. Someday he'd be at the top, facing a rather steep drop off the other edge. It was simply a question of how long it took him to figure out where the slide was headed and whether or not he wanted to be there when they got to the top of the steps.

Down several sets of stairs, around a few corners, and Severus pushed through the door to his quarters with a scowl set on his face. He closed the door firmly behind him, stopped, and stared up at the ceiling. Then he closed his eyes and stood still, breathing deeply.

The same feeling of momentum, of an uncontrolled future barreling forwards, had plagued him during his last year as a Hogwarts student and the tumultuous couple of years after graduating. The whispers and rumors, the shadows lurking in corners, the flashy smiles and promises of betterment and twinkling blue eyes.

That mess had all ended with the death of the only person Severus had truly cared about.

He let out a very slow breath, vowing to stay in control this time. To not let the powers of the world have their way with him and those he needed to protect. To be the stable center of an uncontrollable universe.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Severus's eyes flicked open and he glanced towards the fireplace. A thin, transparent child met his gaze, greenish-blue eyes wide and watching him. The ghost was sprawled on his back, head tipped nearly upside down. A blue-tinged hand waved.

At the sight of the boy, Severus pushed back the thoughts and concerns over Lucius and the future. He turned to face the child, letting his scowl fade away and crossing his arms over his chest. For whatever reason, the rug by the fireplace had become the ghost's 'spot'. Severus wasn't sure why – the boy couldn't feel the warmth or the rug. "Evan," he greeted.

The child's face broke into a smile, rolling over and bounding to his feet. His clothes looked messy and over-sized, a bruise on his upper arm dark against the pale skin. His hands came up, sketching out a few broken words.

It took Severus a moment to decode what the child meant. "Yes, my day went well," Severus answered. "Yours?"

Evan stood still, frowning, staring at his fingers as he traced out a few patterns. After a second he shrugged and just nodded.

"I've been teaching you sign language for over a year and that's the best you can do?" Severus drawled as grabbed his teapot, filled it, and set it on the stove. "A nod?"

The child moved into his field of view and angrily held up seven fingers.

"I fully realize you're only seven."

The hands fell to the boy's side and his lower lip came out in a pout.

Mind still churning on his friend's death, Severus hesitated at the familiar pout. Then he shook his head and said, "As I've said on multiple occasions," Severus lit the stove, turned around, and crouched down in front of the boy. "I do not play charades."

Evan gazed up him through his bangs, looking a bit chastened. Frowning in thought, the child raised his hands and sketched out two words. "No good."

Settling back on his heels, Severus shook his head. "And the only way you'll get better is with practice. Now. How was your day?"

Leaving the ghost to move his hands and attempt to remember the signs, Severus grabbed the steaming teapot and made himself a cup of tea, keeping an eye on the child. As he settled down at the table, Severus pushed the last few thoughts of his friend out of his mind and picked up the book he'd been reading. It was heavy and thick and full of hear-say and made up factoids. But it was one of the more reliable on the market and had come highly recommended from several exorcists.

The boy was something of an oddity, according to the book. Ghosts were trapped - like reflections - for all of time. They did not learn or change. They knew what they'd known at the point of death, and that was it. Evan seemed much more fluid. The child's growing ability with sign language and his constantly changing appearance weren't things Severus, or any of the resources he could find on the matter, could properly explain.

Finally the boy looked up with a question in his eyes. "Mother sister son," the kid signed.

Severus blinked, then narrowed his eyes. "Again."

The boy repeated himself. "Mother sister son." Then added a, "What" afterwards.

"Mother sister son? That's not a sentence…"

Evan scowled and moved his hands sharply. "What name."

Sipping at his tea, Severus sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. After the Halloween feast and the chat with Minerva, Severus really had no patience for deciphering the child's broken language. When he glanced back at the boy, Evan's scowl had vanished and he was sitting on the floor, staring at his fingers.

Almost as if he knew he had Severus's attention, the boy's fingers drifted through the word 'Sorry'.

Severus took a second to wonder what he'd done to cause the child to apologize, but then let the thought go. The boy was fast with apologies; his emotions swirling like quicksilver. Whatever had gotten into the ghost would be gone just as fast. "Cousin," he said, taking a stab at the word the boy had been searching for.

Evan glanced up through his bangs, then nodded. His mouth moved, obviously forming the word.

Not wanting to get up, Severus grabbed his want and summoned the sign language book from the other room. It zipped in, the cover white and glossy, and Severus paged through the book to figure out how to say the word. He was barely to the right page when he saw the ghost standing there, looking over the table at the book. The page featured a young woman, her hand forming the shape of a 'C', shaking it next to the side of her head. Severus turned the book so Evan could see better.

When the boy nodded and backed up a step, Severus shut the book and sipped at his tea. Evan formed a few words with his hands. "Cousin. School. With I."

Although not the first time Severus had heard of the child's life, this was the first time the boy had brought up his family. "What's your cousin's name?"

Evan scowled, thought, and then shrugged. "Forget," he signed, tapping his forehead.

Severus had to fight down a sigh. It was the one sign the child definitely knew well. "What about school?"

The boy's mouth moved, then his hands. "Happy cousin. Angry me."

Taking a sip of his tea, Severus tried to decode that. Giving up, he just answered with a, "I'm sorry to hear that."

Evan nodded and crossed his arms over his chest, looking unhappy.

"Are you learning to read in school?"

The boy scowled and shrugged. Then signed, "Cousin no read."

Severus arched an eyebrow. "And what does that have to do with you?"

Evan sent him a frown and settled onto his back to stare at the ceiling.

Shaking his head and ignoring the boy pouting on the floor, Severus finished his tea. He thought maybe he should say something or do something for the child, but he didn't know what. When he finished his cup, he walked over to the sink, washed it out, and then went to stand over the kid.

Evan eyed him back, not moving from his spot sprawled on the cold floor. "What," the child signed.

"Are you going to sleep in the kitchen?"

The boy shook his head.

"I have several potions to finish. Are you coming with?"

After a long moment, Evan nodded and sat up.

**.**

**...**

**.**

**-18- Harry -18-**

_January 3, 1988_

.

It was one of the worst nights Harry could remember. A fierce winter storm was raging outside, making the windows of the house rattle. Harry was curled up in his cupboard – he should have long been asleep – but there was a horrible pain in his head that would not go away. He tossed and turned in time to the storm, somehow both hot and cold at the same time.

Finally, exhausted and tired of not sleeping, Harry picked up his glasses – they were new and had been something of a Christmas gift from his Aunt when the school had complained about Harry not being able to see the board – and pulled the string to turn on the light in his cupboard. The light had been another surprise gift brought about, Harry figured, by the school complaining about him not doing his homework. The bulb buzzed gently, barely audible over the wails of the storm. Harry grabbed his ratty backpack and dug through it, finding a small book he'd borrowed from the school library.

He wasn't entirely sure why he'd borrowed it. There was a strange, fuzzy feeling in the back of his head that this was something he wanted to learn. The book was filled with pictures of faces and hands, spelling out words in sign language.

He peered down at the little symbols, yawning and rubbing at his forehead. Picking through the words on the page was difficult. His second-year teacher, a hawky woman with a sharp nose, wasn't going out of her way to help him learn to read. Trying to make his fingers follow the symbols was even harder when his head was throbbing in time to the blowing wind and the creaking of the house.

"How was your day," Harry slowly read, then formed the words with his hands. He moved his hands again and again, slowly getting use to the feel. He grinned slightly, then stopped and pressed a hand against his temple. "Ow…"

There was a hissing noise coming from somewhere. Harry looked around, startled, half-remembering the big snake that he sometimes saw curled up in the cupboard with him. The hissing came again, this time sounding more like a word. _"Come…"_

Wrapping the blanket firmly around his shoulders, Harry maneuvered his body so that his back was firmly against a wall. "Who's there?" he whispered.

_"Master…"_ the hissing said. _"Kill…"_

A sharp, horrible pain speared through Harry's head. Biting his lip to keep from screaming, Harry doubled over, clutching at his forehead. He whimpered in pain, tears streaming from his eyes.

_"Yes… more…"_

Harry's body jerked. His head spun. And then the world went horribly black.

When he woke up, he was lying on the dungeon floor in Hogwarts. For a moment, his brain struggled to remember where he was, then the memories came flooding in. Very slowly, he relaxed. The pain in his head was gone, although it'd been replaced by an overall ache in his body.

Footsteps sounded on the floor, stopping next to his head. Evan slowly opened his eyes and peered upwards. "Ow," he mouthed.

Severus smirked, but the dark rings under his eyes gave away the sleepless night the man had been suffering. "Ow, indeed." Rubbing at his arm, Severus headed back to his recliner by the fire.

Evan laid there for a long moment before getting to his hands and knees, then to his feet, and slowly making his way over to where Severus was sitting. He sank down before the fire.

"Care to explain what happened?" Severus's voice sounded tired.

Evan shrugged. "Head hurt," he signed. He tipped his head, eyes narrowing in thought, then signed, "How was your day?"

The dream man arched an eyebrow. "Your sign language has improved since yesterday."

Tired and aching, Evan just shrugged and lay down on the floor. He couldn't feel the cold stone, but he could imagine pressing his hot forehead to the floor.

Severus was studying him carefully. Evan didn't care much, choosing to close his eyes and let out a breath. "Head hurt," he repeated.

The man hummed. "Yes, the Dark Lord is busy tonight."

Evan's eyes flicked open. He looked closely at Severus, curious. "Who?" he signed.

"I believe that's why your head hurts," Severus said between sips of tea. "And my arm hurts. And why you're haunting me."

"I like you," Evan signed.

The man's eyebrow twitched. "Potentially. However, I doubt that's a strong enough motivation for a haunting."

Not entirely sure what a 'haunting' was, Evan shrugged and decided to inform the man that he was just a dream, so it really wasn't worth worrying about. He waved a hand, then signed, "Dream."

"I wish," Severus muttered, leaning back in his chair. "And I wish the Dark Lord had actually disappeared six years ago."

In the silence that followed, Evan let his gaze drift over to the crackling fire. He loved watching the flames dance and move. One of the logs cracked and shifting, causing a wash of sparks to fly into the air.

"Does your head still hurt?"

Evan thought about it a moment, then shook his head. He yawned and put his hands behind his head, continuing to watch the fire. He could imagine the warmth setting on his skin. A small smile curled his lips and he felt his eyes getting heavy.

Severus made a noise in his throat. There was the sound of paper rustling, but Evan didn't pay it any mind. Then Severus started talking.

No. _Reading_.

Evan opened his eyes and turned his head to study the man sitting in the chair. A thick leather book was in his hands, the cup of tea abandoned on the side table. Evan didn't understand all the words, but there was something soothing about the man's voice.

"Nux Myristica is a member of the _Myristicaceae_ family. One of the more popular ingredients in aphrodisiac potions, the species of Nux Myristica known as _fragrans_ has an intense flavor and aroma that strengthens the properties of the potions it is used in, much more so than the similar varieties of _argentea_, _malabarica,_and _fatua._"

Evan yawned widely and let his eyes fall closed.

"Nux Myristica grows on a large evergreen plant that thrives under tropical conditions. A full-grown tree can easily reach 20 meters in height. The fruit, often known as a drupe, is about the size of an apricot when picked. The ovum inside is single and centrally situated as a hard kernel. Quality Nux Myristica will have the ovum surrounded by crimson, lacy tendrils and should have a warm, sweet, aromatic scent."

Evan's head tipped to the side. The world felt soft and fuzzy. Severus's quiet voice droned in the background.

"The ingredient can be harvested three times a season. The husk is generally discarded, although they can be sold as toys for kneezels. The aril, a lacy, golden-brown layer under the husk, is often used in potions for disease prevention and potions that promote health. The ovum itself is to be dried under the sun for several days to several weeks – the longer the drying period, the more potent the ingredient. A properly dried, quality Nux Myristica ovum will rattle when shaken…"

At some point, Evan fell asleep.

.

...

.

**-19- Severus -19-**

_July 31, 1988_

_._

Severus strode through the hallways of the Malfoy residence, trying very hard not to notice some of the more interesting displays of wealth. However, when he passed under the fourth chandelier that probably cost more than his entire existence, Severus couldn't help but curl the corner of his lip into a sneer.

"Draco is such a brilliant child-"

Severus wished he could only half-listen to the babbling Narcissa Malfoy walking along beside him. The woman was clearly in love with her only child and had no problem describing the child's every accomplishment.

"Why, just the other day, Draco managed to enchant a broomstick to fly him around the room. I had to put a stop to that, not in the house, it's not proper, but that just shows how much potential he's got. Doesn't it, Severus?"

"Very impressive," Severus said as politely as he could manage. The woman had been going on since the front door – nearly three minutes of non-stop chatter, by Severus's count.

"When he gets to Hogwarts, he'll be a potions protégée, I'm almost positive. Especially with you as his Head of House-"

Severus frowned slightly. "None of that is set in stone just yet," he said.

"Of course it is. Lucius said the Board of Governors had already agreed to it." She fluttered her hands at him. "I'm sure that's what he wants to talk about, getting the last details ironed out. You simply _must_ be Head of House for Draco in a few years. Imagine if Professor Kettleburn was still in charge of the Slytherins. The man was in _Hufflepuff_, Severus! Draco needs _proper_ guidance growing up."

The woman pushed open a door with her hip, gesturing him into the room. She gave him a smile as she shut the door and vanished off into the house. Severus momentarily pictured her hunting down a hapless servant to harass about her son. It caused a smile to tick the corner of his mouth.

"Ah, Severus."

The smile vanished at the sound of Lucius Malfoy's voice. Severus turned to see Lucius standing behind an overly large, gold-inlaid desk. Severus nodded before walking across the room to grab the man's hand. "Lucius."

"You look well. The school must be treating you appropriately." The man gestured with an elegant hand towards one of the chairs. "Do sit down. We have much to discuss."

"Your beautiful wife informed me that the Board of Governors has agreed to my appointment as Head of Slytherin for the next year." Severus sat carefully in the chair, perching on the front of the seat.

Lucius smirked. "Yes, Narcissa does seem to get what she wants out of life." He set his hand on a piece of paper and slid it across the desk towards Severus. "Here are the signatures. Your appointment is finalized."

As Severus picked up the parchment, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. It was a thin figure, slightly transparent, stained with blue. He closed his eyes for a moment to steady himself, then pretended to read the writing as he studied the child. Severus sincerely hoped Lucius couldn't see the young ghost. Turning his attention back to the parchment, he gave it a cursory glance. "I don't know how to show my gratitude, Lucius…"

The man leaned forwards, holding out a quill. "Your signature is still required. And I'm sure, when the time is right, we'll find something…_ appropriate_... as a method of repayment."

Evan walked up to the desk, studying it with wide eyes. When he noticed Severus eying him, the child waved and signed a question asking where they were.

Unable to answer, Severus kept his gaze on Lucius. He accepted the pen and scrawled his name across the line. "You expect, then, for me to come across something at the school you'd find interesting."

The parchment was taken back, rolled up, and handed to an owl. "In time, Severus. In time," the man said. "For now, I'm simply pleased to have one of our own as a Head of House." Lucius folded his arms across his stomach. "There will be an opening in the Board in a few months. I hope to apply for the position. Then I will be in a better place to assist you in the coming years."

Evan left the desk and gazed about the room. One of the paintings – a rather gruesome one that showed a beheading – had his full interest.

Severus ground his teeth slightly, not wanting to discuss the painting with the boy later. "Assist me with Draco's schooling?"

Lucius's smirk grew. Then he winked – just subtly enough that Severus wasn't sure he'd caught it. "Of course, Severus." The man picked up his cane. "And, as other… _positions_ become available, you'll have my full backing."

"Of course," Severus murmured, bowing his head and shooting Evan a glare. The child had moved from the beheading painting to one that, if at all possible, was worse. It involved a female in a very compromising position. "You have very interesting paintings, Lucius."

"Ah, that's what you've been glancing at." The man stood from his desk and walked over to a painting of a man standing over a field of severed heads. "Narcissa won't let me hang them in the house proper. She claims they give Draco nightmares. So they've been banished to my office." The man smirked and sent Severus a knowing look. "She's even put some charm on them so they can't be moved again. This," he pointed towards in the painting with his ivory walking stick, "is my great, great grandfather, Arterius Malfoy."

Severus arched an eyebrow, taking the opportunity to gesture at Evan. 'Go home,' he signed as imperceptibly as he could. "Impressive."

Lucius turned to the picture. "He had some rather unique sensibilities. Some of them rather barbarian, for an Ancient and Noble Lord. He had all of these paintings commissioned. The rest," he pointed around the room, "are his conquests."

Evan was watching him with wide, green-blue eyes, head tipped to the side. "Forget," the child signed back, slinking closer. "You okay?"

"Honestly," Lucius continued, oblivious to the conversation, "I would remove several of these and have them paint something more appealing to replace them, but I haven't been able to work through Narcissa's sticking charm. Do you remember when she stuck those Hufflepuffs to the ceiling?"

Severus nodded, although the memory was faint. It had been near the start of his first year. "Took them awhile to get down, didn't it?"

"Two days," Lucius said with a chuckle. "Dumbledore had to send up food for them. Even he had trouble working through Narcissa's charm. And she's had years to practice making it better since then."

Severus arched an eyebrow. 'I'm fine. Go home.' "It seems as though you may just have to get used to the paintings."

Evan shook his head and sidled slightly closer. He was gazing at the painting of Arterius Malfoy and the road of severed heads with a pale look of disgust. Severus felt a tingling in his arm and wondered if that was the feel of the child actually stepping _through_ him.

"You don't have a hand at charm removal, do you?"

"I'm afraid not," Severus murmured, taking a small step to the side to block the boy's view. "I was much better at potions and the dark arts."

Lucius sighed graciously. "Of course, of course. It was simply a hope." Then man turned from the paintings, his eyes gleaming as he started to walk towards the door. "Really, Severus, I feel awful asking you to come all this way simply to sign a paper…"

Recognizing the cue to leave, Severus stepped towards the door to the office, grateful that Evan seemed to be keeping up. "That's fine, Lucius. I'm happy to make the trip for you."

"Fortunately, all the paperwork is out of the way. You're the new Head of House for Slytherin." Lucius touched his shoulder. "It is a happy day to see a true Slytherin back at the helm of the greatest of the Hogwarts houses."

Severus nodded deeply. "And I am delighted to accept the position."

"If you are even in need of my help," Lucius added as he held open the door and gestured for one of the servants, "I am only an owl away, _my friend_."

Severus nodded again. "And if there is anything I can do to repay your kindness, you'll have to let me know."

Lucius smiled. There was something chilling in the tilt of his lips. "I will, Severus. I will." He turned to the servant. "Show Severus to the front door." Without another word, Lucius vanished into his study, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

Severus walked to the front door, trailing after a thankfully quiet servant, keeping an eye on Evan. The child seemed willing enough to keep up, sometimes having to break into a trot after being distracted by some shiny thing on display in the Malfoy's hallway.

It wasn't until Severus was stepping out the front door and onto the sidewalk, headed towards the apparition point, that he began to wonder how the ghost was going to get back to Spinner's End.

The boy jogged up to him, panting, and signed, "Big house."

"Quite," Severus murmured. "I am headed home."

"School?" the boy questioned.

"It is summer. I'm going to my home." Severus made every effort to keep his voice down, aware that the Malfoys could be listening in while he was still on their property.

After a second mulling that over, the boy asked, "I go too?"

Severus didn't quite know how to answer that. "I will… try," he finally answered. "I am not sure I can apparate us both."

The child grinned, worries apparently soothed by the answer, and seemed to think. His eyes crossed and his nose wrinkled. Severus almost smirked at the sight – Lily used to do the same thing when faced with a complicated riddle. "Bad pictures," the child finally said.

"Inappropriate for children," Severus corrected. "Not _bad_."

Evan wiggled his fingers. "Limited vocabulary," he signed with a grin.

They were two words Severus had been using to describe the child's broken conversation. "Yes. You will need to rectify that." Ignoring the blank look on the child's face, he stepped closer and held out a hand. "Give me your hand."

The boy glanced around, then up at him, tipping his head to the side. The messy, dark hair tumbled into his eyes.

"Evan."

The child reached up slowly, his hand passing into Severus's. It felt cold, like something tingling was passing through his fingers. At the sensation, Severus twisted on his heel, pulled magic towards him, and _pushed_.

With an ear-jerking _pop_, he found himself in the back alleys of Spinner's End. He glanced down at his side and saw the little ghost still standing there, eyes wide and amazed, mouth dropped open. There was a disturbingly large sense of satisfaction in Severus's chest at the sight of the child still by his side. "Come along."

The boy trotted beside him, grinning from ear to ear. "Awesome," the boy eventually signed.

Severus twitched an eyebrow as he turned to head down the street. It was late in the evening, so the sidewalk was bare of pedestrians. A car drove slowly down the road. "Please do not follow me to the Malfoys again. It is not an appropriate place for a child."

"Okay," Evan agreed. Then he bounced on his toes and turned to Severus, grinning nearly from ear to ear. "Birthday."

Eying the child, Severus shook his head. "My birthday is not until January."

The boy stumbled slightly, although what he'd caught his incorporeal foot on, Severus didn't know. Then the child shook his head with a scowl and pointed to himself. "Birthday."

Severus came to a stop on the sidewalk. "It's your birthday today. At the end of July."

Evan nodded, smiling. But the smile slowly faded when Severus couldn't find it in himself to smile back.

He suddenly understood the reason for the child's death. The reason for the haunting. The reason why the child was following _him_. How many children born at the end of July had been murdered by the Dark Lord due to a prophecy Severus had passed on? Perhaps even the reason why the boy seemed to be a miniature clone of his dead best friend.

Severus's eyes closed and his fingers came up to clutch at the Dark Mark emblazoned on his arm. It was his due, in a way, to suffer the haunting of a child murdered by his own words.

It took him several long minutes to get his eyes open again. The child was standing in front of him, eyes wide with concern. "Sorry," the boy signed the second he seemed to have Severus's attention. "Sorry."

Severus stared at him. Gazed into the green-blue eyes. Then he shook himself out of his personal misery. "It's not your fault," Severus said. His voice didn't even shake. "Don't apologize for things you didn't do."

The boy's hands fell to his side. He was biting his lower lip, apparently looking for something to say.

There was a long pause as Severus pulled his mind back together and stuffed memories back into the shadowed recesses of his thoughts. "As it so happens, I have a gift for you."

Evan didn't move. He eyed Severus dubiously. "No," he signed.

"Yes, actually. It was not meant as a birthday present, but will have to suffice." Severus started walking towards his home again. He didn't glance back until several houses later, noticing the child still hadn't moved.

He paused and waited. It took a few minutes for the boy to look over his direction and start trotting to catch up. By the time Evan had come to stand next to him, there was a tremulous, hopeful smile on his face. "Birthday?" he signed.

Severus nodded and walked past the last few homes to a mostly-forgotten house near the end. Stepping up to the front door, he unlocked the charms and made his way inside. The boy was right on his heels. From the cold tingling in his feet, the child was apparently _in_ his heels at certain points.

Grabbing the teapot from its spot on the counter, Severus filled it and set it on the stove to boil. That done, he looked towards the boy who was unable to hold still, his expression a mixed bag of hope and dread. Unwilling to torment the child, Severus walked over to the shelf and pulled down a package that had been delivered just that morning.

He set it down on the floor, folding his legs as he settled down beside it. Evan was a split-second behind him, eyes wide. "Birthday?" he asked.

Severus sighed. "I should teach you the sign for 'present'," he told him, but the boy pointed towards the gift with a pleading look in his eye. Severus bit back a smirk and cut the string holding the package together, then pulled off the wrappings and displayed the contents for the boy.

Evan blinked at it, slowly reaching up a finger to trace over the embossed, silver letters. His finger hovered just over the cover, unable to actually touch the thing. "Book?"

"Yes, it's a book," Severus said with a roll of his eyes. "Tales of Beedle the Bard, to be exact. Since you seem to enjoy being read to, I thought you'd like something age-appropriate."

Evan was sitting still. He tipped his head to the side, then looked up at Severus with eyes that looked wet.

With an arched eyebrow, Severus asked, "Do you not like it?"

"I like book," the boy was quick to sign. "Read?"

Severus glanced towards his teapot, uncomfortable with a strange glow in the child's gaze. "Once I get a cup of tea," he said, getting to his feet. "Then we can read."

The boy was grinning from ear to ear. He scrambled to his feet and headed over to the fire in the living room, settling down expectantly on the soft rug. Severus could just barely see him from the kitchen.

Severus sighed as he poured the hot water into the cup and carefully added a few dried leaves. "What have I started?" he murmured, then grabbed the book of children's stories and walked towards the living room.

.

...

.

**-20- Harry -20-**

_September 21, 1988_

_._

At eight years old, Harry had several things down pat. One was avoiding his relatives. Another was steering clear of the teachers that went to Aunt Petunia's book club. A third was climbing.

Harry was _good_ at climbing - and it helped that his tormentors were rather bad with heights.

"Potter!" came Dudley's shout.

Harry glanced over his shoulder, not missing a step. After being showered him with sweets and treats to the point where Dudley weighed nearly twice what he should, even a short chase left Dudley red-faced and huffing to keep up with Harry's more nimble form.

"Get back here!" one of Dudley's friends yelled. The friend was new, having just moved to the school, and Harry hadn't managed to catch his name yet. Something to do with a pig, if he remembered right.

Making it to the edge of the schoolyard and his favorite climbing tree, Harry took a leap and grabbed the lowest branch, expertly swung himself up, and started to climb. By the time Dudley and friends reached the tree, Harry was twenty feet off the ground.

"Cheating freak!" Dennis shouted.

Harry arched an eyebrow and figured it wasn't cheating, it was Survival of the Fittest. He'd just learned that term in science class the other day. Finding his favorite sitting branch, he leaned against the tree and turned to watch the clouds pass overhead.

"Orphan!" the new boy yelled up. "Get down here!"

Harry glanced down, rolling his eyes at the taunt. The newest member of Dudley's little gang had a lot to learn when it came to insulting Harry and giving orders.

One of the boys grabbed a stone and threw it towards Harry's perch. It fell far short of its goal, tumbling harmlessly back down to the ground. When the boy scrambled to grab the rock and try again, Harry watched with some interest. This time, the rock came up, went down, and very nearly hit Dudley on the forehead.

"Loser," Dudley yelled, pushing at his friend and glaring up at the tree. "We're gonna hide in the bushes. When you come down we're going to beat you up!"

Feeling safe in his perch, Harry dared to stick his tongue out at his cousin.

"Yeah!" the new boy chimed in. "We'll beat you up!"

Laughing, the three boys scattered from around the base of the tree. Harry watched until they were out of sight, then sighed and turned his attention back to the clouds drifting slowly past. Pulling off his backpack so he could get into the most comfortable position possible, Harry hooked his feet under the branch and relaxed, backpack loose in his arms.

There was no doubt in Harry's mind that the boys hadn't stuck around in the bushes. They'd gone to one of their homes to play video games. But Harry didn't move to start climbing down from the tree. He sort of enjoyed being up so high, the slightly dizzy feeling of being taller than everyone else.

He watched the clouds for awhile, then the birds circling a few blocks away. Wondering if there was a dead cat somewhere, Harry sighed and dug through his backpack in search of his homework. He wouldn't be able to get much done once he got back to the Dursley's. Aunt Petunia had taken the light back out of his cupboard last month, claiming he was reading too much. Harry was old enough to understand what that meant: he was reading more than Dudley and that was a bad thing.

He yanked out the notebook and a pencil, then carefully hooked his backpack on a stump of a branch not too far away. Turning his attention to his math homework, Harry sighed and started scribbling answers to the problems. Being the beginning of the year, it was still relatively easy. Harry carefully made sure to answer enough wrong that the teacher – a member of the book club – wouldn't say anything to his Aunt later.

It didn't take long before Harry found himself with a finished worksheet. After stuffing it into his backpack, he leaned against the tree, watching the sun slowly being to sink through the sky. He'd give it another hour, then he'd climb down and head to the Durley's.

The clouds chased each other across the sky in an almost hypnotic fashion. Harry followed the clouds with his eyes, feeling his lids become heavy. Half asleep, he let his mind drift towards the strange dream he'd had the previous night. The dream faded in the light of the day, feeling broken and wispy. But as the sun set, his memories of the dream slowly came back together. Eyes mostly closed, Harry could almost remember it.

A man, tall and dark, with sweeping robes and an icy voice. He was a teacher at a school. A school of _magic_. Harry smirked a little at that. If his relatives knew he'd been dreaming about something as unnatural as magic, they'd haul him up by his ears.

Severus Snape, that was the man's name. And he taught at Hogwarts. Oh, and he'd given Harry a new name.

With that thought, Harry's eyes closed the rest of the way. He felt a sensation behind his heart – like he was falling and being jerked forwards at the same time. His eyes opened in time to see his body sleeping in the tree and a strange snake curled near him before the world vanished.

When the dungeon slammed into existence around him, Evan didn't even stumble. His eyes roved around the deserted room, eying the torches and tables, the messy stack of cauldrons near the sink. From the size of the pile, Evan figured Severus had someone special in mind for cleaning them. With a glance at the clock, he shrugged and stuffed his hands into his pockets. Everyone was probably up eating supper.

Curious, Evan wandered over to the cauldrons and peered inside, trying to guess at what the students had been making. Greenish goo met his gaze. The next cauldron held something similar, only the goo appeared to have congealed to nearly the consistency of peanut butter. Little bits of something were stuck in the goo. Evan was amused to see that it was bits of at least one of the school's wooden spoons.

With an amused snicker at the thought of what Severus had done to that poor student, Evan sauntered around the classroom, then through the door into Severus's office. The room was clean, like it usually was for the first few months of the school year. Eventually the resident professor would simply give up and let the piles accumulate. With Severus's new responsibilities this year as Head of Slytherin, the piles would grow even larger.

A few more walls to pass through and Evan found himself standing in Severus's quarters. The little apartment was sparsely decorated. A soft rug lay on the floor before the crackling fire and a few books, the ribbon still around them from the delivery owl, were sitting on the kitchen table. Evan ran his fingers over the books, pretending he could feel the soft leather. They would join the other books on the bookshelf, all of them - except one - bound in thick, soft leather and read multiple times.

He walked over to the bookshelf and eyed the one book that was different. It was glossy and white, with a muggle-typeset title. A thin layer of dust was starting to form across the top of the book.

With the sound of a door opening, Evan spun around with a grin. Severus walked in, his long hair dangling loosely around his chin. His robes brushed the floor as he stalked through and closed the door with his foot, arms loaded with papers.

When the man's eyes met his, Severus arched an eyebrow. "You're here earlier than usual." The man swept past him, angling for the table to drop of his load, and then to the teapot sitting on the stove. "How was your day?"

Evan waited until the man filled the pot and turned around to glance at him. "Fine," he answered silently, his hands drifting up to form the symbols. "Did you call the exorcist today?"

The man scowled and stepped up to the table to sort papers into piles. "I only threaten that when I'm being lied to," he said darkly.

Evan flushed and shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets for a moment before coming up with a reply. "It really was okay."

"Then where'd the bruise come from?"

With a blink, Evan glanced down at the dark spot on his arm. He reached over to prod at it, then shrugged again. His other life felt so far away. He couldn't even properly remember what had caused the bruise. "Does it matter?"

Severus shook his head, then sent Evan a glare. "Yes. It does matter."

Evan gazed at him, tipping his head to the side. Then he turned his attention to his ratty shoes, wiggling his toe through one of the larger holes. He could see the floor through his feet.

"I need to make another batch of pain-relief potions for Madam Pomfrey. _Quidditch_," the man drawled out the world like a curse, "has apparently started."

"You like Quidditch," Evan signed.

"Only when my team wins," Severus muttered, grabbing the teapot and pouring a cup of hot water. He tossed in a few dittany leaves to steep, slowly mixing with a spoon and apparently giving up on the papers scattered across his kitchen table. "And the Ravenclaw team this year appears to be exceptionally good at causing the other students pain."

Evan smirked. "I hope I get to go to a match this year." The idea of Quidditch was exciting, only the games were played during the day. He was trapped in school, or busy cleaning during those hours. He'd only been able to see two – both times because he'd been sick and napping.

Severus eyed him and made a noise in his nose. "Would you like to help with the potions? Or are you going to vanish on me?"

With a half-shrug and a half-nod, Evan signed, "Yeah, I'll help."

The man watched him a moment longer before picking up his cup and sipping on the liquid. His nose wrinkled a bit and he shook his head. "Let's get it over with, then." Carrying the cup, Severus walked towards the door to his quarters.

Evan followed after a second, keeping pace with the man slowly sipping his tea. It was only a few doors down the hallway to the potions lab. Evan walked through the wall rather than waiting for Severus to open the door.

Having to watch Severus grab the cauldron and move it over the flames, Evan felt a familiar stab of disappointment at not being able to help. But it cleared when the man eyed him and gestured for him to follow towards the potions cupboard. "Don't screw this up," Severus said. "What do I need?"

Evan glanced at him, then around at the cupboard. "I thought healing potions were for forth years," he signed.

"They are."

"You remember I'm eight, don't you?" Evan shot him a disbelieving look.

Severus arched an eyebrow. "What do I need?" he repeated dryly.

Evan blew out a breath, studying the cupboard and trying to remember from the last time Severus had made this potion. He seemed to make it every month or so throughout the Quidditch season. "Murtlap essence?"

Severus didn't answer, just reached out and grabbed the ingredient, putting it into his pocket.

Scowling, realizing he was getting no help at all, Evan really started to scratch his brain. "Blue mountain flowers, giant's toenails, wings from a luna moth… and…"

Severus just quietly waited.

"I know it's five things," Evan explained as he thought. "It's an earth-based potion, so it's only five things. And I know it's something to counteract the poison in the luna moth wings. And it's slimy?"

An eyebrow twitched upwards.

Evan stuffed his hands into his pockets, looking around the potions cupboard. When his eyes lit on the flobberworm mucus, he yanked out a hand and pointed. "That!"

"Nicely done," Severus said quietly. He grabbed the vial and headed towards the cauldron.

Not used to the praise, Evan flushed and smiled. He followed Severus back to the main cauldron in the room, settling down cross-legged on the floor as the man expertly started setting up for the potion. Intertwining his fingers together, Evan watched the movements of his fingers, waiting for the potion to be done.

"What's the base for a healing potion?"

Evan looked up. "Um… orange juice?"

Severus eyed him. "Why?"

After a beat, Evan grinned and signed, "Because you told me it was?"

Scowling, Severus picked up the carton of orange juice and poured a liberal amount into the cauldron. "I almost wish I could swat you on the head, boy."

"You wouldn't," Evan signed back.

"There are days," Severus said darkly. "How much murtlap essence?"

"Three drops. Then stir counterclockwise." Evan waited a beat, then added, "Father."

Severus glared at him as he dropped in the murtlap essence. Dark eyebrows knit over dark eyes. "Knock it off, I'm not your father."

Evan looked down towards his toes and signed, "If you say so." He shot Severus a glare and threw in a smile. "But you're better than anybody else I've got."

"Pretty sad, ghost," the man muttered, carefully counting his stirs. "What comes next?"

Raising his hands to explain about crushing the blue mountain flowers, Evan felt an odd sensation in his stomach. He froze, looked down, and then jerked as the potions classroom evaporated around him. He found himself back in his real body, still perched up in the tree in the park in Surrey.

Shaking himself out of the dream, Harry looked around. It was completely dark. "Bloody hell," he whispered as his memories came rushing back. He grabbed for his backpack and started to work his way out of the tree. Hopefully Aunt Petunia would let him in, even though he'd long missed supper.

.

...

.

_To be continued..._


	6. Act 1 Chapter 6

_Sorry this is late. 70 hour work week, flu, no days off... *sigh* It takes a toll, it really does. I don't really want to be working on this now. But if I don't, you won't get anything until next week. And I want to update every week._

_Although it's migrated slowly from Monday to Thursday... :)_

_Thanks Verdantia, Guest, BluSkyRose, Acop, risi, Silverstargirl, Saint Snape, SAGGYHERMAN, Serendipital, Jasper's Mom, schnookums, quickster12, delenda est c, Moi, SapphireSecret, Above the Winter Moonlight, Catcrazzed, WhiteFang001, Wilona Riva, RebeccaRoy, BlueWater5, DarkRavie, RebeccaRoy, and Hildygirl for the revies!  
_

_Super thanks to MsFrizzle for the long review!_

* * *

**Harry Potter and the**

**Stone of Dreams**

* * *

**– Act 1: Foundations –**

* * *

.

**-21- Severus -21-**

_January 14, 1990_

_._

It was a gorgeous winter day. Being a Saturday, Severus had spent most of the day out collecting snowflowers in the Forbidden Forest. Jagged blue cricket-like things with teeth long enough to draw blood and a strong resistance to magic, their name came from the fact that a group of the creatures on the white snow, at least from a distance, looked like a patch of flowers.

Although they were incredibly hard to catch – they bounded through a net charm like the spell didn't even exist – Severus had managed to snag a small jarful. Wet, cold, and shivering despite liberal use of warming spells on his clothes, Severus headed back towards Hogwarts. The jar in his hand rattled with the force of the snowflowers leaping against the lid.

Severus glanced down at the canning jar to make sure the lid was on tightly. Most purebloods refused to touch something as muggle as a canning jar, preferring the _vial_ instead. Severus, though, prided himself on being practical. Catching things and putting them in vials was rather difficult combination of stoppers, wax seals, and tiny necks that required dexterity and pin-perfect accuracy. Putting ingredients into a canning jar and screwing on the lid required none of that.

It had been one of the things Severus had prided himself on as a child - the ability to snag the more exotic and half-to-get ingredients for a potion. Long, gangly limbs had lent him a decided advantage over the other students. Professor Slughorn's 80/20 split on the profits of his adventures into the school forest had also helped tremendously. By his fifth year, Severus had been adept enough at collection techniques to pay for his entire schooling.

Stomping his feet on the magically-cleared sidewalk, Severus blew on his fingers and stalked past the students wandering lazily down the paths. The blue snowflowers were in prime condition, caught this close to the winter solstice. If he could get them properly dried and stored before they spoiled in the warmth of the school, they'd fetch almost twenty galleons apiece. The twenty-seven snowflowers in his jar were equivalent to nearly a month's pay.

"Professor Snape!"

Severus froze at the sound of the voices – two, so eerily similar, speaking in unison. He slowly turned around, fixing a scowl on his face.

Fred and George Weasley, already having racked up an impressive number of detentions despite only being first years, panted as they stumbled to a stop. "Professor. You have to solve a problem for us," one of them said, plastering an innocent smile on his face.

None of Severus's normal repertoire of scowls seemed to work on the twins. They were immune to everything short of Madam Pomfrey's snapping fingers. "_Have_ to," Severus drawled, crossing his arms and leaning back on his heels.

"Yes, please, Professor," the other twin said quickly. "See, it's growing."

Severus rubbed the bridge of his nose. He almost didn't want to ask. "_What_ is growing?"

The two glanced at each other. "We were reading this book, okay? And it said in there-"

"-after the book tried to eat us, of course-" the other cut in.

"-that if you feed a chizpurfle a fire slug when it's below zero-"

"-and Professor Kettleburn, he had both of those just sitting there, unattended-"

"-so it's really his fault, you know-"

"-then the chizpurfle will grow to the size of an acromantula."

Severus blinked slowly. "And I care why?"

The twins shared a look. "Acromantula are a lot bigger than we thought," the second twin admitted. "Now it's big enough to eat Hagrid."

"We tried hitting it with flesh-eating slugs, but apparently chizpurfles like to eat flesh-eating slugs when they're that big." The first twin was looking down at the ground, a flush to his cheeks.

Severus rubbed his hands together, thinking longingly about his warm and Gryffindor-less apartment. "I am still not aware of why I should care."

"But Professor Kettleburn refuses to help," the twins said.

Severus snorted. "Well," he said, "that makes two of us now, doesn't it? Better luck with someone else." He turned on his heel and started towards the school, trying to think through the best way to dry the snowflowers. His normal choice of desiccant - a sulfuric powder that could leach all the water out of a charging hippogriff - was currently not available. The forth-years had mixed up a few ingredients in a potion last week and had destroyed his entire stock.

He didn't make it more than two steps before a pair of wide eyes stopped him in his tracks. Fortunately, these eyes were attached to a slightly blue and transparent body. "It's really big," the ghost signed.

"Following around the Weasley twins?" Severus murmured.

The boy shook his head with a shrug. "I couldn't find you. I wanted to go see the thestrals, only a giant crab was in the way."

Severus frowned slightly at the mention of the thestrals. They were creepy things. Dumbledore only kept them to appease the half-giant grounds keeper. And it didn't help that the thestrals were the only other things able to see the young ghost. That thought generally caused an unpleasant stir of emotions in Severus's stomach.

"What did the Weslys do?" Evan signed, having to spell out the name and screwing up completely.

"Weasleys," Severus corrected as he started walking again, forcing the child to move to keep up. "And they apparently fed the chizpurfle a fire slug when it was below zero."

Evan grinned. "Like a gremlin, then? Don't feed after midnight? Don't get wet? No bright light?"

At the mention of the movie, Severus sighed. "Yes."

When the ghost had first brought up that particular muggle movie, Severus had taken it upon himself to look it up. He'd hoped it would help him understand where the child had come from. Unfortunately, the movie had come out several years _after_ the child's death - which, according to all the reliable books on the subject, made the boy's infatuation with the movie theoretically impossible.

"Aren't you going to help them?"

Severus shook his head, clearing his mind of the worrisome thoughts. "No," he said. "The twins got themselves into this, they can get themselves out."

"Oh. What were you doing?" The boy skipped in front of him, avoiding the snow as much as possible. When he miss-stepped and ended up in a snowbank, the ghost didn't even seem to notice. His feet and legs passed through the thick powder without even a dislodged snowflake.

"Catching snowflowers."

Twisting around to walk backwards, the boy signed, "What's that?"

Severus pulled the jar from his pocket and held them out for display.

The boy peered at them. "Blue grasshoppers?"

Arching an eyebrow, Severus said, "Magical blue grasshoppers with fangs."

Evan's eyes widened appreciatively. "Why would you want to _catch_ them?"

"They are quite expensive." Severus, having reached the front door to the school, set the jar back into his pocket and pushed open the door. "I need to get them properly dried before they spoil."

"Severus," came a woman's voice, sounding surprised. "Who are you talking to?"

Severus glanced to the side. Professor McGonagall was standing there, fiddling with her gloves. "Minerva." He chose not to answer her question. "Your newest Weasleys seem to be up to their tricks again.

The woman's smile faded. "So I've heard," she said. "They'll have some explaining to do on the book they were reading when they get their giant chizpurfle under control."

"Enjoy that," Severus told her with a slight inclination of his head. He swept past her, headed towards his dungeons. Evan trailed behind him, still eying the school he'd been crawling around for several years with wonder. It amazed Severus that the boy could still be so wide-eyed over the objects in the school after all this time. Even the most muggleborn first-year lost most interest in the physical school itself by the second year.

Evan raced ahead a few steps, stopping by the old suit of armor that stood guard outside of the potions classroom. He stared the suit down, eyes narrowing. When Severus walked past, the boy signed, "I know it's alive."

"It's as alive as you are," Severus said simply.

The child shot him a slightly transparent, green-blue glare. "It's going to move someday and prove me right, you know."

"Oh yes," Severus said simply, headed into the potions classroom and letting the door close firmly behind him.

Evan followed seconds later, walking straight through the door like it didn't exist. He trotted over, through several tables and chairs, and came to stop next to Severus, hands in his pockets.

Severus set the jar of snowflowers on his desk, watching them jump haphazardly around. They would need to be rapidly dried. Severus turned to his potions cupboard, pulling down a small sack of seeds from a magical plant. The seeds looked a lot like rice and quickly absorbed water. Eying the jar, Severus tried to determine the best way to get the Oryza in with the snowflowers, without letting all the creatures out.

"What's opposite a fire slug?" Evan signed, stepping into view between Severus and the jar.

Severus blinked. "I don't know."

"Something water-related, like a grindylow?"

Stepping past the boy, Severus unscrewed the lid of the jar and quickly replaced it with his hand. "Water would put out a fire, yes. But so would earth."

The child appeared next to him, watching with a raised eyebrow as Severus grabbed for the bag of Oryza. "An earth-thing, like a gnome, then?"

"I fail to see the point of your question." Severus pulled a handful of Oryza out of the bag and dumped it into the jar, slamming his hand back in place on the top before any of the snowflowers could bounce out.

"The giant crab-thing."

"Chizpurfle."

"Yeah. I was trying to figure out how to make it shrink again." The child let his hands fall to his side with a shrug.

Severus pulled another handful of Oryza out of the bag. He would have to nearly fill the jar to make this work quick enough. Bury the things in the desiccant. "Although you can't relay the knowledge even if you knew it."

Evan shrugged, looking away.

"I would feed the thing both, in hopes that one would work," Severus murmured. "And if that failed, I'd throw the thing in the lake for the giant squid to deal with."

A smile flickered onto Evan's face.

"I have to get this done. Why don't you go find out what the twins did with their overgrown chizpurfle."

With a nod, the young ghost was gone.

Taking a chance, Severus set up the bag near the top of his jar, pulled his hand back slightly, and started to pour. It took only seconds for the jar of snowflowers to be brimming with Oryza. "Perfect," he said. Screwing the lid back on to prevent any crawling away, Severus held it up to the light, then set it on his counter.

All in all, it had been a good day.

.

...

.

**-22- Harry -22-**

_March 24, 1990_

_._

Two days to Easter Sunday, and Harry was trapped at the Dursley's for Easter break. Since he had started school, holidays and breaks had become something to dread – the school, while not the most wonderful place in the world to be, was at least a distraction from the Dursleys.

His aunt had shooed him into the cupboard under the stairs several hours ago. She was hosting a formal Easter dinner for the elite members of her book club, including Harry's current teacher, and Harry was to be no part of it. _Quiet_, he was told as the door slammed behind him_. You don't exist_.

The plethora of food stretched out on the tables had been mouthwatering to look at. And, unfortunately for Harry, it seemed that _that_ was as far as he was going to get. Looking at the food.

Crossing his arms and sending a half-hearted glare at the door to the cupboard, Harry leaned against the back wall, careful not to hit his head on the steps, and sulked. While he understood being punished for doing something wrong, more often than not lately, he was being punished for the crime of simply existing. He was getting old enough to really understand the injustice of it.

He thought about aiming a kick at the door – even raised his foot – but stopped. His uncle was home and not all that far away. While Aunt Petunia could screech with the best, her swings with the frying pan were half-hearted and slow. Uncle Vernon could do some damage, especially to a nine-year-old locked in a cupboard under the stairs that wasn't, supposedly, currently existing.

Dropping down to lie on his back, Harry gazed up at the uneven ceiling of his little jail cell. A spider was slowly building a web up in the dusty undersides of the stairs. Harry could just see the web with the light trickling through the slats in the door.

"You and me both," he muttered to the spider. "Stuck in the dark."

The spider didn't seem to care. It just kept on spinning its web, no doubt hoping for a hapless bug to wander past.

Watching, Harry felt his eyes slowly growing heavier and heavier. It wasn't normal, he thought, for someone to sleep as much as he did. Nobody else his age took naps anymore. But there was simply nothing else to _do_ when trapped in a dark cupboard for hours on end. He couldn't do homework, not over the Easter holiday. And Aunt Petunia would throw a fit if he ever brought home a book, so there was no hope for reading either.

So he slept. His eyes closed.

There was a tug on his heart, a swift jerk backwards, and Evan was standing in the dungeon of his dream castle once more. He glanced around before hearing Severus's voice coming from the man's office. Walking over and slipping through the door, he waved hello.

The man was sitting at his desk, back straight, attention focused on a woman sitting before him. Severus flicked a glance in his direction, but otherwise didn't acknowledge the ghost's presence. Evan, used to being ignored, sat down on the floor across from them to wait for the meeting to adjourn.

"It is a concern," Severus was saying. "The child has actually grown and matured in the several years he's been haunting me." On the desk, a quill moved on its own, jotting words down on a piece of parchment.

Evan sat up a bit straighter, interested. "Are you talking about me?" he signed.

"In what ways?" the woman asked, unaware of the question Evan had asked. She brushed a hand over the voluminous red dress that reminded Evan more of a tablecloth than a dress.

Severus frowned. "He's grown in the way a child would grow. He was four or five when I first saw him. Short and scrawny and easily entertained. Now the child is nine and appears so. Taller. More interested in the world. Asks questions and wants answers."

"That is extremely unusual," the woman said as she sat back in her chair. "Ghosts are like mirrors or portraits. They _are _the person when they died and the ghost will never change."

"Precisely why I asked you to come," Severus said, pressing his lips together tightly enough to form little white wrinkles around his mouth.

Evan got up and walked over to where Severus could see him. "Why are you talking about me?" he signed. Severus never talked about him. It was one of the stable parts of their relationship – it was only between them and something of a secret. "Why?"

"I would require more information on him." The woman got out her notebook, tapping a quill with her wand. "Could you give me more details?"

Severus's eyes met Evan's. He raised an eyebrow, then said, "The child is silent, unable to speak. He's able to learn, seems inquisitive and rather intelligent for his age. Extremely skinny and poorly dressed."

Evan shot him a look, glanced down at his clothes, then shrugged with a bit of a smile. His clothes weren't _that_ bad. "Can't help it," he signed.

Severus's other eyebrow raised. "The boy has become fluent in sign language over the past year."

"He learned a new language?" the woman asked sharply.

Severus nodded, stiffening. "As I said, he is intelligent for his age."

"Of course," the woman said, nodding. "Does he change from day to day?"

Severus's eyes narrowed. "His clothes change now and then. He will have lots of bruises he refuses to explain, or at least tells me he can't remember where they came from. Several times he has appeared in my dungeon injured, with little memory of what happened."

"And they heal," the woman murmured. "Interesting."

"As I stated when you arrived, I am concerned that the child is not actually a ghost." Severus's eyes left Evan's to focus back on the plump woman.

Picking up her parchment, the woman looked over what the quill had written. Her fingers rested on something scribbled on there, her forehead furrowing. She glanced to the side, almost to where Evan was standing, before letting the parchment curl up. "It doesn't sound like you are dealing with a ghost, Professor Snape. There are many slight variations in ghosts, but it doesn't sound like your Evan is one of them." She slipped the parchment into her bag, closing the top firmly. "I would conjecture that the child is actually an apparition."

Severus frowned again, this time more heavily. "I am unfamiliar with the term."

The woman waved her hand vaguely. "He is not the reflection of a soul, he is the _actual_ soul. For whatever reason, he did not find his way to the place beyond this life and is trapped in this world. He seems to have taken an attachment to you."

Evan listened closely, eyes narrowed. "I'm not a ghost?" he signed, knowing he was going to get no response.

"What can be done for him?"

"Little, at this point," the woman admitted. "The child is undoubtedly reliving his life, including all the injuries and what-have-you he suffered during his time amongst the living. He's not truly aging - he's just remembering his life to such a realistic degree he's actually living it." The woman paused, then shook her head. "When the child reaches the point of his death, at whatever age that was, he will die. At that point, many apparitions move on and are never seen again. If not, he'll start over again as a child – four or five years of age, as you said."

Evan tipped his head to the side and stared at the woman, trying to understand what she had said.

Severus frowned heavily. "An exorcism-"

"Would not work on a soul," the woman interrupted. "Apparitions are thankfully extremely rare. There was a point several centuries ago when creating apparitions was something of a fad. One would place a piece of their soul in a container, then release it to wander the world. Being followed around by unseen pieces of yourself was considered… high class." She shuddered. "There is, however, not much that can be done for them. Evan will simply have to live out his life as it was originally, for better or for worse."

Severus stared at his desk. His lips were pursed tightly.

"Most likely the boy has been dead for many years, Professor. It is possible the child has cycled through his existence many times, since his memories of his life appear to be extremely dim. The people responsible for the child's state are likely long dead."

"So I will have to watch the child continue to live this life?" Severus asked, his tone sharp.

The woman shrugged indifferently. "He is not alive, Professor, please do not lose sight of that. Your care for the boy is remarkable, however it is also likely increasing the strength of his tie to you. Were you to stop all interaction with the child, he would likely begin to leave you alone."

"No I wouldn't," Evan signed with a smirk. But his smile faded at the look on Severus's face. With a tip of his head, Evan asked, "Are you okay?"

Severus was quiet a long moment. "How old will the boy live to?"

"That I can't know. You would have to discover his true name and go find the records of his life. I would not postulate that he lives much past childhood, not if he's starting his afterlife at the age of four or five." The woman got to her feet. "I really must be going-"

"Yes," Severus murmured. He blinked a few times before he stood up, gesturing towards the door. "Thank you for your time, Ms. Havernath."

She was all smiles. "Apparitions are quite rare. When we have more time, I would love the chance to interview you further."

Severus's face was blank. "Perhaps some day." Pushing open the door, he lead her out through the potions classroom and into the hallway. "You can find your way to the Defense classroom from here?"

"Of course," she demurred. "I was a student here for seven years. Have a nice day, Professor."

There was the click of a door out in the classroom. Then, long seconds later, the sound of the office door closing. "Were you listening?" Severus asked.

Evan nodded. "I'm not a ghost? I'm an..." he hesitated, attempting to spell the unfamiliar term, "aperison."

"Apparition. Ms. Havernath is one of England's foremost experts on ghosts. She seems to think you are not." Severus slowly sat down in his chair. "What do you think?"

Evan thought about it a moment. "I think this is a dream," he signed, a blunt answer. "My real life is out there, in the real world. Not in a magic castle."

Severus made a noise in his nose. "A life you don't really remember."

"I do remember," Even replied firmly. "When I'm awake, I do remember. I just don't… when I'm here." He tried to picture his real life, but it was fuzzy and distant and empty.

With a shake of his head, Severus closed his eyes and rested his fingers on the bridge of his nose. "So I'm just a dream too."

Evan shrugged. "What else could you be?" he signed when Severus opened his eyes. "Nobody but you likes me."

Severus's lips pressed together again. "What do you remember?"

Searching through his memories, Evan tried to figure out something to say. Talking about his real life had always been limited by his lack of memory and Severus's short temper when it came to bruises and random injuries. "I don't live with my parents. An aunt, and an uncle, and a cousin, I think," Evan answered after a moment. "They don't like me very much, but that's normal. Nobody likes me."

The man's dark eyes were empty and blank. "When is it? What year?"

With a shrug, Evan answered, "Now? Today is today…"

"Where is it?" Severus pressed.

Evan searched for a moment before giving up. "England," he answered slowly, knowing it wasn't the answer Severus wanted. "But it doesn't matter. Because this is all a dream."

"Not to me it's not," Severus whispered. "I need a strong cup of tea."

"Well, to you I'm dead."

Severus didn't answer for the longest time, his face empty. He eventually got to his feet and walked from the room, getting halfway across the room before stopping and looking back over his shoulder. "Are you coming?" he asked.

Evan nodded, climbing to his feet. "It'll all be alright," Evan signed, gazing up into Severus's dark eyes. Then, in an attempt to get a reaction, added, "Father."

Severus's eyes closed. "Don't call me that," he muttered, twisting on his heel and stalking from the room.

With a frown, Evan followed, thinking that Severus would make a great father, if he were real and not just a dream. But that was the nature of his life. All good things were just dreams.

.

...

.

**-23- Severus -23-**

_June 8, 1990_

_._

"Professor Darrelbray almost survived the entire year," Severus said blandly, leaning a hip against the Headmaster's desk. "I'm impressed."

In the high-backed chair, Minerva snorted softly. "I assume he's not returning next year, since his office was empty before the students even left for the train station?"

The headmaster quietly pursed his lips, then shook his head. "Our Defense professor has chosen to remove himself from the school." The man stared into one of his crystal baubles for a moment before settling back in his chair. "I believe he's already moved to the Alps. But such is the danger of teaching a hands-on curriculum."

Severus scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. "I teach a hands-on curriculum as well. I simply do not allow the students to test their learning _on myself_."

"The students did enjoy his class," Filius commented, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

"Because they were allowed to practice curses on their professor," Severus said, shooting him a glance. "I would have enjoyed being a student again as well."

A cat-like grin grew on Minerva's lips. "The Weasley twins certainly took advantage of the opportunity." She turned her attention back to the headmaster. "Do we have a candidate for his replacement?"

"Quirinus-" the Headmaster started.

"No," Severus cut in. "Quirrell can't even look his reflection in the eye, much less teach a class like _Defense Against the Dark Arts_."

Dumbledore gazed at him steadily a moment. "Quirinus has requested a sabbatical for next year. He wishes to get some practical experience in the field before taking on the position."

Severus managed to swallow his next comment, but from the disapproval on the headmaster's face, the look on Severus's face had given away the thought: no amount of 'practical experience' would give Quirrell the talent to teach Defense.

"So we are in need of two professors for next year?" Filius asked.

Leaning back in his chair, the Headmaster nodded. "Quirinus will take the Defense position when he comes back from his sabbatical…"

Severus felt his teeth creak.

"…so we are only in need of a temporary fill for that position. I believe I have someone in mind that would be interested. A notice will go out for a new Muggle Studies professor shortly."

"I could teach it." Severus blinked into the silence, almost unaware that it had been his voice that had spoken. He certainly hadn't meant for the words to come out.

Minerva blinked at him, startled. "You want to teach _Muggle Studies?_"

Severus waved a dismissive hand. "Defense. I'm much more qualified than-"

"Quirinus will teach Defense," the headmaster said, his voice firm. "I know you're interested, Severus, but you are needed in the Potions position at this time. And you're head of house for Slytherin now, like you wanted."

Feeling his back stiffen, Severus focused his eyes on the small stack of parchments on the man's desk, and tried to ignore the chiding tone of the man's voice. Severus hadn't _wanted_ the head of house position. He hadn't particularly _wanted_ the Potions position either. But rebuking the man would only make Severus sound like a child. "Yes, Headmaster," he said.

It took several long seconds before the sensation of the headmaster's blue eyes gazing at him faded. "We have some interesting tasks to accomplish this summer. The wards on the castle will need to be renewed this year - we're planning on the midsummer solstice - and you'll have to do your house wards as well. I'll need a list of which wards you've..."

Severus tuned out the rest of the spiel. He slowly let his eyes rove over the stack of parchments, not really focusing on anything in particular. He hadn't meant to ask for the Defense position. He hadn't even really given it much thought, before now. Teaching had never even been on Severus's list of preferred career choices. But even without really _wanting_ the position, Severus felt rebuked by the headmaster's quick decision.

He knew why the man hadn't even considered it. Severus's more shadowy past meant he needed to stay far away from the darker side of magic. The Board of Governors would have him out of the school within an hour if there were even a rumor of him dabbling in the dark arts again. Even though he had sworn off the darkest magic. Even though he hadn't touched dark magic recently. The taint of his days with the Dark Lord would haunt him his entire life.

It wasn't fair.

There were fingernails digging into his palm. Severus dimly realized they were his own fingers from his clenched fists, but he didn't really care. There was a faint throbbing growing in his arm, like a distant heartbeat. It was weak and frail, skipping beats and hesitant. The life force of the Dark Lord slipping through the link in the Mark.

Severus let his fingers uncurl, jerking himself out of the spiraling thought pattern. It had been those sorts of thoughts - anger at the unfairness of the world - that had lead him down the wrong path before.

His lips pressed tightly together as he flexed his wrist and cleared his mind of emotion. The world was unfair. Life was unfair. That was simply the way it worked. In exchange for one stupid mistake, Severus had lost his best friend, was haunted by a tormented child he'd caused the death of, and ruined any chance of having the future he'd wanted growing up.

"Severus."

He looked up, fully aware that his scowl was still dark and angry, even though his mind was blank and calm. "Yes, Headmaster?"

"Do you have any questions?"

It took a beat for Severus to think it through. Yes, he had lots of questions. "No, Headmaster," he said pleasantly, not bothering to remove the look on his face. "I understand."

The old man eyed him, blue eyes not twinkling for once. "Do you?" he asked softly.

"If we're done," Severus said, nodding at the other three heads of houses and twisting on his heel.

None of the adults spoke until after Severus had closed the door to the headmaster's office. He took the spiral staircase down, then out through the door guarded by the thick-set gargoyle. In his mind, Severus was headed to his apartment. He needed tea. A strong cup of tea, with something stronger mixed in.

But his feet seemed to have a different idea. They stopped in front of Quirrell's office, turning him so he could see the man sorting through books and packing boxes. His arms crossed over his chest and he leaned a shoulder against the door frame. "I hear you're going on sabbatical."

Quirinus flinched, the book in his hands dropped to the floor, and he looked up. "Y-yes," he stuttered. "I-I'm thinking of g-going to-to France. I-I want to-to study the v-v-vampires."

"Defense position when you get back."

The man licked his lips, then nodded, scurrying forwards to pick up a book. Severus thought he looked more like a cockroach than the candidate for Defense professor at one of the best schools of magic in the world. "Ac-actually, I w-wanted to talk to-to you before I left."

Severus arched an eyebrow. "Did you?"

"I..." Quirinus trailed off, playing with the edge of the book with his long fingers. "You..."

"I have many things to do," Severus commented, pushing away from the door frame.

"P-please," the man said, setting the book down. "I-I... I know y-you used to work for-for the D-Dark Lord."

Severus tensed. After his conversation with the headmaster, he didn't need another rehashing of his past. "I don't-"

Quirinus slunk closer, belying his normally clumsy affect with smooth movements, his eyes pleading. "I-I just, I need this," he said, his voice soft. "I n-need to find the D-Dark Lord."

Hesitating, Severus opened his mouth to say something, then found himself at a loss for words. The last person he would have thought would want to go searching for the Dark Lord was stuttering, nervous Quirrell.

"N-Nobody believes in m-me," the man said slowly. "B-but if I c-can find the D-D-Dark Lord..."

"That is an historically bad idea," Severus said bluntly. "The Dark Lord should not be trifled with."

"I-I-I know. B-but if you c-can just p-p-p-point me in the right d-direction..."

"No." Severus took a step backwards and away from the man's office.

A hand grabbed on his robes. Severus stopped and turned to snarl at Quirrell, but the man was babbling faster than ever. "I c-can find him. I-I can f-f-find him and I'll b-be famous, S-Severus. Do you know wh-what that would m-mean to my f-family? A-and to me. Nobody w-wouldn't ever l-laugh at me again."

"Quirinus-"

The fingers tightened. "Y-you understand, S-Severus," he said, pleadingly. "Y-you know wh-what it's like to be l-laughed at and r-r-ridiculed. I'm n-not going to try to c-catch the D-Dark Lord. J-Just find him."

Severus gazed at the man, slightly annoyed by the imploring tone in Quirrell's voice. "I don't know where he is." He brushed off Quirrell's hand and took a few steps back into the hallway.

"R-rumors?"

"He'll kill you if you manage to find him," Severus said. "Go on sabbatical to the library at Alexandria, like most professors do, and try to avoid the worst of the grimoire." He shook his head. "Then you might come back alive." He turned and headed down the hallway towards his apartment.

"I r-remember what P-Potter and B-Black did to you," Quirrell called after him. "H-how they l-laughed. T-t-tormented."

Severus looked back, furious at the mention of his past. "I did not-"

"P-p-please. I-I'll owe y-you."

Severus clenched his teeth together. "There are rumors of magical snakes in Albania you might check out," he said after a moment.

"Albania." A huge grin split Quirrell's face. "Th-thank you, S-Severus."

"Yes," Severus muttered as he turned and stalked down the empty school hallway, his heart heavy and cold despite the warmth of the June day. "_Thank you_," he repeated darkly. The door to his apartment flew open with a burst of magic. He walked over to the stove, stared down at his tea pot, and then sighed.

His fingers twitched and a bottle flew out of one of the cupboards. He snatched it from the air, grabbed a cup, and poured himself a liberal dose. The alcohol burned all the way down.

.

...

.

_To be continued..._


	7. Act 1 Chapter 7

_Thanks for your patience with the update. The last three weeks have been... bad. The worse my life gets, often the less words I find myself writing in a sitting. I was down to haiku, people. Bad haiku. One of the better examples..._

_Sitting in the lunchroom surrounded  
Friends trapped on smartphones  
I enjoy the silence.  
_

_We'll sum the end of it up thusly: A rather loud 'I QUIT!' escaped late last week while at work... which ended up with me having a sit-down with my boss and getting my hours reduced, rather than a complete lay-off, which is nice because I hate job hunting more than anything. While taking a long weekend, I slipped on a patch of ice, fell, and ended up completely numb from the neck down. Freaky feeling, thank god it was temporary, and I ended up with just a severely sprained neck and no fractures. I now have a neck brace, a week off work to 'rest my neck', and a whole bottle of muscle relaxers.  
_

_Life just keeps giving, sometimes. Even when you ask it to quit giving. Beg it to quit giving. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, I suppose. But some days I wonder what hellishness life has in store for me that I have to be this strong._

_Thanks Theblackbook, TakamuraRyuu, Wilona Riva, w- easy enough, demonwolfkid, Amber Esme Hermoine, the other witch, SAGGYHERMON, MsFrizzle, schnookums, Verdantia, LikeTheSnowFalls, risi, delenda est c, Missmapledear, CorruptEnlightenment, Geust, Serendipital, KisunaFuki, Zireael07, Catcrazzed, DarkRavie, Lady Light, Above the Winter Moonlight, and Saint Snape for their awesome reviews!  
_

* * *

**Harry Potter and the**

**Stone of Dreams**

* * *

**– Act 1: Foundations –**

* * *

.

**-24- Severus -24-**

_October 5, 1990_

_._

Severus stormed around his potions classroom, suppressing the smirk that threatened to appear on his face. It wouldn't do to allow for even a conceited smile during his second-year potions class. The young Gryffindors weren't quite adept enough at picking up the difference between a smile and a condescending smirk to fully grasp the insult.

Evan – ten years old and at least two years younger than any of the students in the room – was going around the class and telling each person what they were doing wrong and how to fix it. It was the ghost's assignment, since he couldn't actually do the brewing himself. The child was correct, more often than he wasn't. It caused a strange glow in Severus's chest. _Someone_ had learned their potions lessons.

And it wasn't the Gryffindors.

Evan had currently positioned himself in front of the Weasley twins. Although the boys' swelling solution was further along that most of their compatriots, the emerald green hue of their potion had a muddy brown look to it. "You didn't crush your pine nettles enough," the young spirit signed.

The two Weasleys were oblivious, apparently playing some sort of hand game to determine who would have to cut open the bat spleen.

"You know," Evan continued to sign, glancing over a second year Slytherin named Graham Montague, "that if you took a handful of spidren eggs and tossed them into his cauldron…" The boy trailed off with a delighted grin.

Severus knew what would happen. The eggs would react with the cowbane to create a very powerful blue dye. The same dye the headmaster used to color his robes, on occasion.

"Finely powdered," Evan added, his grin taking on an evil twist. "That'd be fun."

With an arch of an eyebrow, Severus stalked towards the boy – and more obviously towards the Weasleys. Throwing a handful of powdered spidren eggs in that boiling potion would not only make a nice dye – the reaction would create a veritable _cloud_ of the stuff that would stain everything it touched a nice shade of cerulean for several days before it wore off.

"What are you doing?" Severus intoned, purposefully placing himself behind the ghost.

Evan spun around, unseen by the other students, his eyes wide. The Weasley twins, assuming they were being talked to, broke off their game.

"We were just… debating the proper procedure for the… um…" one of the twins said.

"The wonderful example of a bat spleen," the other cut in with a smile.

Severus cut them a glance before dropping a glare on Evan. The ghost fidgeted and looked down at his toes. "Sorry, Father," the boy signed.

"Hmm, yes," Severus murmured, flashing a dark look in the child's direction. "Do the work I assigned."

"Yes, sir," one twin said with a sort of confused look.

Spinning on his heel, Severus stalked off with a scowl, allowing the twins to remained confused. It was days like this – when the child chose to make a rare appearance in his classroom – that he was evermore grateful the child was silent and invisible to everyone but him. Evan's sharp knowledge of potions, gained from hours upon hours of watching him brew, and his poltergeist-like tendencies, when combined with the terror of the Weasley twins… The school might not survive the year. Severus knew he sure wouldn't.

Stopping next to a potion that was orange – _orange_, for Merlin's sake! How can anyone get from green or orange? Severus glowered. "What is this?"

The boy – Lee Jordan – looked up with a pale frown. "Swelling solution?"

"Why do I always get a question answered with a question?" Severus muttered. "Evanesco," he said, tapping the cauldron with his wand. "You're done."

"Why?" came spitting out of the child's mouth as he leapt to his feet. "I was most of the way-"

"You destroyed it," Severus snapped. "It's long dead and now you're just torturing it." Pulling to his full height and taking a small step forwards to loom, Severus growled, "Sit. Down."

The boy dropped into his seat.

"You are done for the day, Mr. Jordan. I'd suggest you get out your book and _attempt_ to learn the potion for next week."

As Severus moved on, he could hear the mutterings of the other Gryffindors, and several claims of 'unfair'. He rolled his eyes at the teenage drama that never failed to unfold in his classroom.

It was nearly fifteen minutes before Severus could chase the students from his classroom. Most left a vial of something resembling a swelling solution on his desk. Severus eyed them, picked up a few of the more messily labeled ones with a sigh, and then dropped into his chair.

The room was silent of everything but his own breathing, but Severus could see the young ghost, still on the other side of the classroom, looking down at something on the floor. Perhaps a new stain that Severus could use as a consequence for the next foolish child to cross his path.

The ghost was swimming in his clothes today. Far too skinny to be healthy, the child had a strange pallor to his skin that not even the normal blue tinge could hide. There was a darkish blob on his lower arm that was probably a bruise. The vaguely finger-sized shapes of the bruise a testament to where it had come from.

Not for the first time, Severus wished he could fix whatever was going wrong in the boy's life. However, as he'd been informed a few times – once in person and several times by owl – that Evan was simply replaying a life that no longer existed. Years had passed since the child died and, even if Severus could identify the child's real name, there would be nothing that could be done for him. He would live like he had lived before, and die like he had before.

There was something dark and cold in Severus's chest at the idea of the ghost's inevitable death. The boy had been his on and off companion for several years. There was something special about Evan, and how quickly he learned, and the way his eyes lit up when meeting something magical for the first time. It would be a rough day, when Evan's death came around again.

Severus tore his eyes from the child and grabbed a few of the vials to grade. The sooner they were graded, the sooner they could be dumped and cleaned and reused.

A blue hand flickered in front of his face. Severus glanced up.

"Are you okay, Father?"

While he would admit to caring for the child, even to worrying about the ghost's well being at times, Severus did not think of Evan as _his_ in any form. But the boy had decided to cling to him. It had been months since the child had used his name, having fallen into using the word 'Father'. Severus shook his head slightly at the boy's inability to give up on the term. "I am not your father," Severus said, for what felt like the hundredth time.

The child shrugged, ignoring the comment as always. "Are you okay?"

Severus paused, then nodded. "I am fine."

"You were looking weird," he signed.

"It happens," Severus murmured, picking up the vial he was working on and holding it up to the light.

This close up, Severus couldn't help but wonder at how skinny and malnourished the child seemed. The thought that the boy wasn't long for this world crept into his mind and stayed there, pestering him like a horse fly searching for a meal.

"It's odd to see you during the day," Severus said, instead of speaking his thoughts.

"I think I'm sick," Evan signed, referring to his belief that his 'real' life existed somewhere outside of the school. "I must not have went to school today." The boy focused on the potions vials. "That one looks wrong."

"They all look wrong," Severus said darkly. "Shouldn't you be lying down if you're sick?"

The child shrugged. "I'm either dead or asleep. Either way, it wouldn't help." Evan sent him a short grin. "I feel okay."

Severus frowned and set down the vial, letting it clink loudly against his desk. He stared at the child, suddenly struck by the idea that the boy might be deathly sick. That Evan might be dying in his 'other life' even as they spoke.

Eerie blue-green eyes narrowed, Evan tipped his head to the side and signed, "Father?"

Opening his mouth for the instant and instinctive comeback to the name, Severus halted. The words wouldn't form on his tongue.

It wasn't like anyone else could see the boy. It was just him and Evan, silent and trapped together until whenever the child died. Perhaps even soon. What harm was it, to let the child call him that? To get some sort of security in the fact that someone, somewhere, even if it's years after his death, would step up and be something of a paternal figure in his life?

And what sort of abysmal life would that be for a man like _Severus_ to fill the role?

Severus let his teeth click shut. Then he asked, blandly, "What?"

"_Are_ you okay?"

With a blink at the question, Severus tried to wipe away whatever emotion was on his face. He settled on a small twist to his lips and a slight nod. Severus was not a very emotive person in general – but the child was extremely perceptive. There were many times Severus assumed the boy would have been a natural at legilimency, if he'd been given the chance to learn. "Yes, I'm fine."

The boy didn't seem too convinced, but the ghost smiled. "So? What are you doing for the rest of the day?" the child signed.

"Tea," Severus answered easily. "I appear to need a strong cup of tea."

Evan's smile twitched up into a grin. "Too many ghosts in your life?"

Severus sent him a narrowed glance, then shook his head as he got to his feet. "Too many students. I've had my fill of them for the day."

"It's not even ten in the morning."

"Exactly," Severus muttered, headed for the classroom door. "The grading can wait. Tea."

Evan beat him to the door. "I don't get why you're even a professor."

"Cheeky brat," Severus scolded, pushing open the door and stepping into the hallway. When he saw no one, he continued. "There are reasons, however." The lock clicked firmly behind him. He didn't want anyone, especially anybody of the Weasley variety, sneaking into his potions stores.

As Severus walked sedately towards his quarters, the ghost raced through a few statues, stopped to glare at the suit of armor, than ran ahead again to beat Severus to the door. The boy was a storm of energy swirling around the professor. Even when extremely sick, the child was possessed of a desire to run and jump and explore. Severus couldn't quite help the shake of his head.

The boy was already in his quarters when Severus pushed open the door, waiting in the kitchen when the lights come on at Severus's command.

"Can I read some more of that book, since you're going to get some tea?" the ghost signed quickly.

Severus scowled. "I should never have gotten you that book," he said, but summoned the book of fairy tales. The spine was well creased by this point, the book having been read cover to cover many times. "What page were you on?"

"Forty-seven." The boy settled down on the ground near the stove, lying on his stomach.

Fingering through the book to the correct page, Severus set the book on the ground and grabbed the teapot. "A quick cup," Severus told him. "I should get my grading done before the sixth years show up."

The child wasn't paying much attention, his finger slowly tracing along the words on the page. His mouth moved in time with the words, often seeming to repeat words a number of times before moving on. Reading was not the boy's strong point, however the child was improving now that Severus was allowing him to pick through the book.

With boiling water, Severus filled his cup and waited for the leaves to stew. Then he sipped at it, still watching the child lying on the floor. When the boy glanced up expectantly, green eyes filled with the same childish wonder Lily had had all those years ago, Severus flicked his wand and turned the page.

Perhaps that was what caused the strange tightening in his chest at the thought of the boy's death. The child's odd resemblance to his childhood friend.

Taking another sip of his tea, his thoughts trailed towards the book the child was reading. He wondered if the boy was getting sick of reading the same stories over and over. Evan never said anything – wouldn't say anything, if Severus knew the child's personality – but Severus sat there and wondered. It wouldn't be hard to get a few books…

But then Severus shook his head, sharply reminding himself that the ghost was just that. A ghost, whether of the ghostly type or the apparition type. And dead children did not need books to read.

.

...

.

**-25- Harry -25-**

_March 27, 1991_

_._

Harry sat in the library of his school during recess, ensconced away from the rest of the student population. He was looking through a pile of pamphlets the librarian had brought out the previous day. Each contained information on a different school.

Next year, Dudley was going to be attending the private school, Smeltings. He'd gotten a letter just a few days ago, informing him that he'd been _selected_ from a highly qualified group of candidates. Dudley hadn't seemed to care. Aunt Petunia had been in tears, taking pictures of Dudley holding the letter and demanding a night out on the town. Uncle Vernon had muttered something about donations and 'they better have' and 'nobody cares about generational schooling anymore'.

Harry hadn't really understood it, but he'd sat there, watching the antics over a silly letter in the mail, and had felt a strange pang in his chest. That there should have been a letter for him as well. Not a letter for Smeltings. Harry had zero desire to attend the same school as his cousin for even a day longer than necessary.

But a letter to _somewhere_. He just couldn't remember where, or for what.

So he ended up at the school library, slowly picking through the brochures and searching for a strange school he could only barely imagine. It should have looked like a castle, with towers and turrets, and parapets and gargoyles and a cold, damp dungeon with thick-walled classrooms. Surrounded by a forest filled with wild creatures, and a lake.

Harry smirked slightly at the image in his head, shaking his head. Schools were not medieval castles, no matter what kind of dreams he'd been having.

But as he paged through the pamphlets and came to the last one, he frowned. There was a sense of loss in his heart. These were all the schools in England – or, as the librarian had said, all the schools _worth knowing_ – and the school he wanted wasn't part of them. Logically, it wouldn't be. But he still scowled as he pushed the papers away.

No, he'd be going to Stonewall, just like many of the other students in his year. These private schools were a pipe dream for someone like Harry Potter. His relatives wouldn't pay the extra expense… not for him.

Already the rumors had started to swirl about Stonewall. Even if Dudley wasn't going to be there - and it seemed as though Piers Porkins wasn't going to Stonewall either - there would be plenty of people for Harry to avoid. He was a target, just as assuredly as if he had a bull's-eye painted on him.

Strangely disappointed in what he had, or maybe hadn't, found, Harry slunk out of the library and headed down the hallway towards his after-lunch class. Perhaps the teacher would let him in early. Harry had recently taken a liking to reading fairy tales and he'd actually checked a book out from the library. He wouldn't bring it to the Durlsey's house, not in a million years, but he'd been slowly reading it during school.

He wasn't even halfway there when he heard a shout. "Hey freak!"

Harry's heart dropped as he recognized the voice. He looked over his shoulder anyways. His portly cousin, Dudley, was striding through the hall with two friends behind. Dennis and Piers.

"I think its lunch," Piers said as they closed the distance. "And freaks shouldn't be out wandering the hallways."

Harry turned and headed in the other direction, hoping to run across a teacher. Most of the teachers at the school would ignore the endless teasing, but they'd have to step in if the trio got physical. "Leave me alone," he told them.

"I think," Dudley said with a laugh, "we should teach the freak a lesson."

Harry heard a quick set of steps and picked up his own pace to keep ahead of them. A sharp jerk to his backpack brought him nearly to his knees. "Ow!" He jerked back on his bag, wrenching it from Dennis's grip. "Knock it off."

"I don't think so," Piers said with a laugh. "I think it's time for some Harry Hunting."

Harry scowled. He turned to walk away. "I don't want to play. I need to-"

Dudley's arm appeared in front of him, blocking his path. "You don't need to anything, freak."

"Dudley…" Harry tried.

"We'll give you a ten second head start," his cousin said amicably, although the smile on his face was cold. The arm disappeared. "Ten. Nine."

"I'm not playing," Harry insisted.

"Eight. Seven. Six." The other two boys had taken up the chant. There was a nervous energy in the air.

"Dudley, stop," Harry tried, knowing it would do no good.

"Five. Four."

Harry groaned and started running. His chances of getting away were actually quite high – none of the three were sprinters. The only real danger was getting caught by a teacher and sent home with a phone call about being a terror at school.

"Threetwoone!" came the shout and a clamor of footsteps.

Backpack bouncing on his back, Harry skidded around a corner and headed for the front doors, figuring his luck would be better outside and away from the long, narrow hallways.

"No running in the halls!" came a shout from far away. Harry didn't pay it any mind as he pelted through the front door, down the steps, and towards the corner.

Unfortunately, Dudley and gang weren't quite far enough behind for Harry to hide just yet. He heard them slam through the doors, whooping and hollering like a war party. His feet almost tripped over a discarded pop can, then he took the corner at full speed.

There, down at the end of the school, was the headmistress. Harry was headed right for her.

With a cut-off curse, Harry leapt for the garbage cans, hoping to hide not just from Dudley and his friends, but from the fierce headmistress as well. No encounter with Headmistress Roemmele ended without a stern phone call to his aunt and several hours of glares and dismissive chatter.

Harry's body was halfway to the garbage cans when, quite suddenly…

He wasn't.

He tumbled to a stop on a rough surface, skinning his hands and knees. Slowly pushing himself to his feet, Harry stared around, confused as to where he was. Logically, he should be behind the garbage cans. But, quite illogically, he now seemed to be on top of the school roof. There was a large air conditioning unit not too far away, as well as the kitchen's vent. He could smell the hamburgers the kitchen staff had been preparing.

Harry walked over to the edge and peered down, watching as the headmistress cornered Dudley, Piers, and Dennis. They had, by all appearances, come running around the corner of the building still hollering their heads off. The headmistress hadn't taken well to that had seemed to have Dudley by an ear. Her nasally voice was almost audible from the roof.

Unable to stop himself, Harry smirked and forced down a laugh. Turning from the sight, Harry surveyed the roof. While he wasn't sure how he'd gotten up here, getting back down seemed to be a more pressing concern. He circled around the roof for a few minutes, looking for a ladder, or set of stairs, or perhaps even a short distance to drop, but it was for nothing.

Eventually, lost for ideas, Harry set himself up on the corner of the roof, hoping to eventually be seen by a passerby, and pulled out his book.

.

...

.

**-26- Severus -26-**

_May 1, 1991_

_._

"I want to go to Hogwarts."

Severus stared at the ghost. The boy had appeared in his dungeon just moments ago, eyes alight with some internal sort of fire. Slowly setting down his quill, Severus shook his head. "How?"

Evan stared at the ceiling. "I don't know," he confessed, his fingers flashing the signs. Night had fallen almost two hours ago, leaving a strange hush over the castle. It almost felt as though the room were stuffed with pillows.

"You would undoubtedly make a fine student," Severus added after the boy was silent for long minutes. "But I'm not sure how you plan to accomplish the feat."

"I know," Evan signed. "I'm either dead or dreaming, but still. I want to." He looked back towards Severus with a grin. "I'm _going_ to."

Severus nodded after a moment. "Don't get too carried away with your plans," he murmured, going back to his grading.

The child settled down by the fire, in his 'spot' on the floor. The firelight didn't catch on the boy's transparent form. No shadows flickered on the floor.

"I suppose," Severus said slowly, "that if Ms. Havernath is correct and your other life is the life you had lived before rather than some strange 'waking world', that Hogwarts is not out of the question."

"Really?" The boy brightened, looking at him with an expectant air.

"Yes, really," Severus said blandly. "It's entirely probable you lived in England while you were alive and that you had enough magical potential to be invited."

The child seemed to think on that. "I'm getting a letter," he signed.

"Even if this is all a dream and there's no such thing as magic," Severus intoned, repeating a phase the boy had said on multiple occasions.

"Even so," Evan signed back with a shrug. "I can dream, right?"

Severus hummed.

"It'd be fun, getting to learn magic. And it might be real."

Severus arched a quiet eyebrow.

"The other day, my aunt made me get a haircut, and it was horrible. But my hair had grown back by morning. And there was this one time my cousins were chasing me, and I ended up on top the school roof."

Severus gazed at the ghost, who had started to fidget. "That sounds like magic to me," Severus said.

"Yeah," the boy signed. "I know. But… I just… Magic…"

"Magic is very real," Severus murmured, tapping his quill on the parchment. "Not for everyone, but for certain people, it is."

The child was staring at him, so full of desire and hope and this strange sense of life. "And you'd by my teacher," he signed.

"Depends on when you lived," Severus said, his heart feeling heavy at where the conversation was headed. "Perhaps Professor Slughorn would be your teacher."

Evan frowned slightly, as if put off by that. "And I'd be here and real and able to talk to you."

"Evan…" Severus trailed off, not sure how to explain how unlikely that scenario really was. Looking into the child's eyes, Severus couldn't find the ability to say anything at all.

Then, without any sort of noise or flash, the boy was gone. Severus stared at the empty space where the ghost had been, thinking that his life had been much simpler when the child had been younger and not able to ask questions like those. With nothing he could do about it, Severus simply sighed and picked his parchment up again, needing to finish his grading before the morning.

.

...

.

**-27- Harry -27-**

_July 7, 1991_

_._

Harry's day didn't start out well. Ever since the glass had disappeared at the zoo, releasing a rather large boa constrictor, Harry had been under a fierce sort of punishment. It didn't sit well with him, since he hadn't actually _done_ anything.

His dreams whispered to him that it was magic. Like the hair, and the sweater, and the trip to the roof of the school. And Harry, slowly but surely, was starting to believe. It was never mentioned aloud, not to anyone. If word got back to his relatives that Harry Potter believed in magic… It wouldn't end well for him. Much worse than a simple vanishing pane of glass.

Today, though, started off with a sink full of wet, gray clothes. Harry stared down at them, dismayed. One more sign that Stonewall High was in his near future, rather than some made-up castle with dreamed-up professors waving magic wands.

Dudley's uniform had arrived in the mail a week earlier. The boy hadn't taken it off since it had shown up - most likely due to the treats Aunt Petunia kept sneaking him every time she saw him wearing it. Harry had taken a quick dislike to the stick Dudley now carried around, banging on just about everything.

"Get the mail, Dudley."

Harry jerked away from the sink at his uncle's voice. With a whine, Dudley got out of getting the mail, being allowed to eat his breakfast instead, and Harry was the one headed down the hallway to the mail slot in the front door.

He scooped up the letters, idly paging through them on his way back to the kitchen. One, however, made him stop. It was thick yellowish parchment with green calligraphy, addressed to him. Even to the cupboard he was living in. Startled, his head swimming and fuzzing, Harry flipped the letter over and looked at the seal on the other side.

"Hogwarts," Harry whispered, the name sounding right out of his dreams. The name brought memories swirling – of a castle and a forbidden forest and a looming potions master.

Then came a thick wave of excitement. "I got my letter," he whispered, not entirely sure what he meant by the phrase. But it caused a grin and he snickered.

"What's taking so blasted long?" came a shout.

"Coming!" Harry called back, startled back to reality by his uncle's voice. He slowly started his way back towards the kitchen, desperate to read the letter he'd gotten. When he reached his cupboard, Harry paused, glanced towards the kitchen, then down at his letter. Without thinking about it too much, Harry stuffed the letter through the slats in his cupboard door.

Slumping into the kitchen, he handed over the remaining letters, his mind whirling. "Took you long enough," the man sneered.

Harry shrugged and grabbed his breakfast.

"Marge's ill," Uncle Vernon said after a few moments. "Ate a funny whelk…"

Not listening to the rest of the grumbled conversation, Harry couldn't keep his mind off the letter resting in his cupboard, waiting for him. Eating his egg and bacon didn't take nearly long enough. He sat there, practically vibrating, as he waited for everyone else to finish breakfast.

When the last member of the Dursely family finally lumbered off to the living room for some well-earned television, Harry scooped up the plates and washed them in near record time. Set out on the drying rack, Harry hurried from the kitchen and slipped into his cupboard, yanking on the string attached to the new overhead light bulb, and grabbed his letter.

The parchment was warm in his fingers. "I knew it," he whispered, his ears alert for the slightest hint of his relatives leaving the living room in search of him. It would be at least fifteen minutes before the next news segment – he should have until then.

He slowly turned the letter over in his hands, running his fingers over the embossed words and decorative seals, before breaking the seal with his finger. A tingle of energy ran up his arm, almost like an electrical shock.

"This is it," he whispered. His life was about to change.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he read. His fingers traced over the name of the headmaster. "I know that name," he breathed. "Dear Mr. Potter. We are pleased to inform you…"

The name at the end of the letter was familiar as well. He touched it, bringing up memories of a stern-looking woman with a green pointed hat. His forehead wrinkled. "My… dreams?"

Harry set the letter down in his lap and ran a hand through his hair. "How can… my dreams aren't… _real_?" He looked around the cupboard, like the answer would jump out and bite him. "Are they?" It almost felt like this were some sort of prank. That someone out there was going to wrench open the door, point at him, and laugh.

But Harry hadn't ever told anyone of his dreams. Of the strange man that inhabited his dream world. Of making potions and magic and giant crabs and whatever else that happened. The world of his dreams was fuzzy and far away.

Feeling extremely confused, Harry folded the letter back up and hid it in the far corner of his cupboard. He sat there until his aunt wrapped on the cupboard door.

"Vacuum the floor!" her voice screeched.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry chorused, climbing out of the cupboard and grabbing the vacuum. But his mind was on the strange letter and what to do about it. He almost wanted to write back, just to see if it was all some sort of odd trick…

But he wasn't entirely sure how to find an owl. That thought – of catching an owl to deliver the mail – made Harry roll his eyes. Of _course_ it was all a dream. Owls delivering mail?

…right?

.

...

.

**-28- Severus -28-**

_July 29, 1991_

_._

Severus was enjoying his tea. He'd gotten a fresh batch of tealeaves in the mail just that morning and Severus was intent on putting them to good use. This selection – while slightly more expensive than the last – was definitely worth the upgrade in price. He slowly relaxed in his recliner.

His mother's house on Spinner's End was neatly cleaned. The curtains were white and shone in the afternoon sun. The floor looked polished, although Severus had resorted to a spell to get it looking like that. He doubted anything short of a legion of house elves could have gotten all the dirt off the floor and returned it to the appearance his mother had always kept the house at.

The reason for the strong cup of tea was the other package that had arrived that morning. It had included a letter and several vials of differing shapes and sizes. Severus had barely finished reading the letter before scowling and deciding his cup of tea that afternoon would be stronger than usual. Most of the rest of the day had been spent filling the vials to the specified order.

However, there was no ignoring the sender of the package. Besides the man's notoriety and power, he would be arriving shortly for yet another impromptu summer meeting. Severus scowled at the idea.

A number of dark books sat on the bookshelves. Severus glanced at them, but made no move to hide them. If the old man was going to play games, than the old man needed to understand the players. Severus was not a white knight.

It was nearly twenty past two when the knock came on the front door. Severus's tea – now mostly cold dregs he'd been staring at, forming pictures in his mind, trying to remember what little of divination he'd learned from the students – was set aside and he pushed himself from his chair. Slinking through the house, he opened the door. "Headmaster."

"Severus," the man greeted, his eyes twinkling happily. "So glad to see you my boy."

Severus gritted his teeth. "I got your package this morning."

"Ah, good. I'll be sending an associate to pick up the item in a few days. The proper precautions must be in place." Albus Dumbledore brushed past without waiting for an invitation.

Severus slowly closed the door and followed the headmaster into the living room. The man had already found himself a seat. "I am not sure storing an object like that in a school-"

"Nonsense. No one will suspect. It is the perfect hiding spot." Dumbledore brushed aside the concern with a smile.

"If the goblins can't keep it safe, I highly doubt a couple hundred untrained schoolchildren will make a difference," Severus muttered.

"Did you get the potions ready?"

Severus straightened, feeling a flare of annoyance at the question of his skills. "Of course," he said stiffly. "They are in the kitchen."

The headmaster nodded. "It is our last line of defense. I trust your abilities."

Severus felt his teeth clench at the thought that a _riddle_ would be the last line of defense for an object like the Sorcerer's Stone. In his mind, the proper last line of defense should consist of a dozen dragons, several platoons of goblin warlords, and a thick series of runic enchantments. The respectful response to the man's comment settled into his mind, but the words refused to leave Severus's mouth. Instead, he ground out a dark, "Why?"

The old man turned from studying the books on the shelf with a puzzled look on his face. "Why, what?"

"Why are we keeping the S-... _that_... in a school, guarded by a few riddles and tricks?"

Blue eyes twinkled and blinked. The slightly senile smile never left the man's face. "You'd be surprised at how a little logic throws a monkey wrench into many wizards' plans." He leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers over his stomach. "Besides, there will be seven enchantments in place - that lends power to the protections - and a _riddle_, I'm using that. There's magic in that, in its own way, to keep him out. And the Stone must be guarded, Severus. Voldemort no doubt wishes to create himself a new body using the Stone."

Severus gripped the armrest of his chair tightly as those thoughts sunk in. "So this is the object you believe the Dark Lord wishes more than anything... and you're going to put in a _school_?"

"There are rumors that worry me, Severus," the headmaster's voice dropped low. "A recent and distinct _lack_ of rumors coming from Albania that worries me more."

Severus felt his stomach drop. "The Dark Lord...?"

The man held up a hand. "I don't know anything for sure, yet. And it does nobody good to speculate on things we don't know. All we can do is take the best precautions we can. The Stone will be safest in the school under my protection."

"Guarded by a few potions trapped in vials," Severus muttered.

Albus Dumbledore smiled at him. "Don't underestimate the power of potions, Severus."

After a moment, Severus let out a short breath. "Would you like me to go collect them so you can be on your way?"

Dumbledore waved his hand in dismissal. "In a moment. I wish to discuss several things with you first." The man leaned forwards. "I hear Quirinus is back from his sabbatical."

Severus couldn't stop the scowl that crossed his face at the thought of his weak colleague. "I ran into him in Diagon Alley the other day. He apparently stumbled onto a group of vampires." Severus's lip curled as he remembered the thankfully short encounter. "He now reeks of garlic and wears a horrendous thing on his head that gives turbans a bad name."

"He said such in his letter." The man nodded and smiled. "He requested some assistance getting used to his new position. Since he seems to hold you in high regard, I suggested you for the role."

Severus's insides curled at the idea of being around the weak, stuttering fool more often than usual, but he nodded curtly.

"And there are a few new students for you to be aware of."

Severus's lips thinned. "Another Weasley, I hear."

There was a grin on the old man's face. "Yes. Second to the last, this one. And young Mr. Malfoy is on the list as well."

Severus nodded. He'd gotten several letters from Narcissa Malfoy over the past few months, making sure her son was ready for a proper Slytherin schooling.

"And Mr. Potter."

There was a beat of silence as Severus processed that. His childhood enemy. The bully of the school and the stealer of his best friend. The man's… _spawn_… attending the school…

Not to mention the fact that the child was a celebrity. No doubt the renown had gone to the child's head. Severus had a tough time picturing a young James Potter, only famous. It made his lips curl into a sneer.

"Speaking of Mr. Potter, I've been alerted he hasn't gotten his letter."

Severus felt a moment of pure relief. The boy was raised by muggles. Perhaps enough of Lily's shrewish sister had rubbed off over the years and the boy would refuse entrance into a wizarding school. Seven years of _not_ having to deal with the brat would definitely go a long ways towards Severus's happiness.

When Severus came out of his thoughts, he noticed that the man was holding out a letter. "No," Severus said before he'd even completely put the idea of what Dumbledore was asking together. "I refuse to step foot in the same _town_ as the boy."

Dumbledore sighed. "Severus, you will be teaching the child for seven years-"

"If he attends," Severus cut in.

"He must attend. And you're well aware of as to why," Dumbledore said firmly. "Harry does not have a choice."

Severus frowned.

"Someone must take him his letter and get a reply," Dumbledore continued.

"Get one of the other professors to do it. I'm sure Minerva would be delighted," Severus sneered. "I refuse."

"Minerva is busy. As are the other professors."

Severus scowled, knowing full well the woman stayed at the school year-round. The plethora of nieces and nephews making their way through her quarters was evidence enough that she considered the place her home. "Your pet giant then."

The headmaster frowned. Severus winced inwardly, aware he'd gone too far, but stood his ground. "I am asking politely-"

"And I am refusing." Severus crossed his arms, picturing the boy getting his letters and tossing them in the trash, too lazy to open them himself. "I refuse to deliver the brat his letter. The child will not receive any special treatment from me, and that includes hand-delivery of an admittance letter."

Dumbledore slowly shook his head. "You are acting childish, Severus."

"I am simply standing my ground," Severus iterated. "The boy is nothing special and I refuse to treat him as if he is. If you want his letter given to him personally, find someone else." His eyes narrowed, already being able to see how the year was going to go.

Finally, the old man sighed and tucked the letter back away. "Very well."

Severus's chin crept up a few degrees. "I will get your potions."

"Thank you."

Striding to the kitchen, Severus picked up a package sitting on the table along with the instructions. Inside were seven vials of different shapes and sizes, filled with various potions. He stared down at his creation for a long moment, closing his eyes. Entrusting an object of such power as a Sorcerer's Stone to a collection of parlor tricks? With a shake of his head, he swept back into the living room to hold the package out for the old man. "As requested."

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore repeated, rising to take the collection of vials and secrete them into his robe. "It is appreciated.

"I'm sure." Severus crossed his arms over his chest again. "Is there anything else you required?"

Dumbledore watched him closely, his blue eyes seeming to gaze through Severus's mind. Severus stared back, well aware that not even Dumbledore could pick the lock on his thoughts.

"No," the man said after a moment. "I will be on my way."

With a nod, Severus lead the headmaster towards the front door and opened the door for him. "I will see you in August, at the start of school meetings," Severus said.

"Of course," Dumbledore agreed. "It will be a good year."

Severus sneered, unable to think of how a year with a Potter could possibly be considered a 'good year'. "We shall see."

"Lighten up, my boy," the man said. His eyes twinkled and a smile curled his lips. "You'll go to an early grave being so angry all the time."

Severus shot him a sharp look. "Have a nice day, Headmaster," he said firmly, by way of dismissal, and shut the door. Standing there, half-sure the man would knock and demand to continue to talk, Severus slowly felt himself relax.

Really, it was days like this that made him question the man's mental capacity. Powerful and intelligent, yes. Completely, mentally well?

With a scowl, Severus headed towards the kitchen to make himself another cup of tea.

.

...

.

_To be continued..._


End file.
